Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In retrospect, the nearly two-week-long absence of danger was an early sign that something was wrong. Typically the two wanderers couldn’t go more than two days without something or someone popping out of the desert and attempting to kill them, admittedly with very limited success. Granted, the frequency of these attacks was worse when they were in populated areas, and neither of them had even set foot in a town in several weeks. Still, they might have let the sense of security get to their head a bit, as the only one of them that seemed to be paying attention to their surroundings was Wolfwood, ever-vigilant even when there was no immediate threat visible in the area. Vash, on the other hand, seemed unusually distracted today, much more than he usually was. His gaze was tilted down towards the ground instead of the horizon, focusing more on the dirt and rocks in their path than the actual direction the duo were traveling in. This caused him to lag behind and drew the silent ire of his more-prepared traveling companion, who had managed to hold his tongue for several hours and avoid commenting on Vash’s reduced pace.

This lapse in walking speed started slowly at first, with Vash stopping for a moment to kneel down and wave at a green beetle crawling across the sand before immediately running back over to Wolfwood when he barked at him to keep up. Then Vash started to almost sway in his movements, rocking back and forth slightly and squinting in the bright desert sun, unable to keep pace with his companion anymore. For almost five minutes this went on without comment, until Wolfwood finally got fed up with this and turned around to face Vash directly. “Hey, what’s taking you so long? You’re usually faster than me, and you’re not the one having to drag a heavy weapon along with you.”

His voice is gruff as always, and though Vash can’t see his eyes behind those dark shades, he’s certain that the look in them is currently visibly annoyed. He shrinks a little under Wolfwood’s gaze and puts on his typical awkward grin, lifting a hand up behind his head to appear as best he can as if everything’s normal.

“W-Well it’s just that the suns seem a little bit brighter today than they did before, right? It makes it a little hard to see where I’m going. You wouldn’t notice cuz you have those big glasses on.” Vash tries to explain himself, once again turning his gaze to the ground. Wolfwood raises an eyebrow at him, clearly not believing this for a second.

“You have glasses too, and the sun isn’t any brighter today than it was yesterday. Or the day before that. Or any other day that we’ve been out in the middle of the desert without issue.”

Wolfwood takes a step closer and Vash steps back at the exact same time, almost as if he’s flinching away from the priest. This is enough to give Wolfwood pause, tilting his head as he keeps at least a few feet of distance between him and the other man.

“Spikey, just be honest with me. What the hell is going on?”

Wolfwood says in that particular tone of voice that means he’s not messing around, a feature of his that Vash has grown used to over the past few months of travel. Vash lowers his gaze to his boots, mumbling out the answer so quietly that Wolfwood can’t hear at first. “...What?”

“My head hurts!” Vash whines louder, embarrassed that the two of them had to stop for something so minor. In response, Wolfwood just stares at him in disbelief.

“Don’t tell me that the reason you’re slowing down is because of a headache, of all things!” He doesn’t sound angry, just surprised that such a mundane thing could bring the Humanoid Typhoon down in any noticeable capacity. Whether or not he meant the words to be judgemental, though, Vash still seems to shrink back at the tone in his voice.

“I know, but in my defense it’s been really hot out recently, and we’ve been doing nothing but walking for over a week now, and it’s just…” Vash trails off, clearly expecting more complaints from Wolfwood about his own weakness compared to the very human priest. Between the two of them, Vash should not be the one slowing down thanks to a minor physical malady.

Whatever comments Vash was expecting never come, however, as Wolfwood just stares at him in silence for a few more seconds before sighing.

“If we head towards the cliffs over there, there’ll be more shade. It’ll be a longer walk, but at least we’ll be out of the suns.” Wolfwood says simply, lifting up the Punisher again and starting to walk off towards the silhouette of the cliffs in the distance. Vash stares at him in bewilderment for a few moments as if he expects this to be some kind of cruel joke, before hurrying after him.

“H-hey wait! I thought that you wanted to get to the new town as quickly as possible! What’s with you suddenly taking a detour for my sake?”

“It’ll do neither of us any good if you’re out of commission by the time we reach civilization again. It’ll just serve to make us easier targets.” Wolfwood responds as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. Maybe it is to most people, but Vash is not ‘most people’.

“...Besides, maybe I have been pushing us too hard.” Wolfwood mutters under his breath, too quiet for his companion to hear. He had the tendency to assume that nothing could phase Vash, at least not the kind of injuries that would affect a normal person. He had watched the man blast a crater in the moon, and now he was complaining of a headache? It just didn’t make sense. At least, it shouldn’t make sense. Wolfwood had a tendency to forget just how human Vash could be, under it all.

Vash tries to put up a fuss about it, self-sacrificing as he is. Suddenly he backtracks and claims that it’s ‘not really that bad, honest!’ or ‘I was just lagging behind cuz I saw a cool rock and wanted to look at it!’. He even tries running ahead of Wolfwood to make it seem like he’s healthy enough to take the lead again. Despite this, he can’t hide the way that keeps his gaze turned away from the suns in the sky. His glasses are transparent, after all, and Wolfwood can be just as stubborn as he is.

So it’s with great reluctance that Vash accepts their new destination, whining about Wolfwood ‘worrying about nothing’ one last time before falling in place a few steps behind his companion. For about fifteen minutes longer they continue in silence, the cliffs gradually growing closer and a noticeable look of relief in the Typhoon’s eyes. It’s the closest thing that Wolfwood will get to his companion admitting that he was suffering, especially over something so minor, and it reassures the priest that he made the right choice in suggesting this little detour.

Then Vash suddenly lets out a cry of pain and clutches his head, squeezing his eyes shut and freezing in place. Wolfwood immediately turns around, lifting up the Punisher, ready to use it as a weapon at the first sign of danger. “What’s wrong, Spikey? Answer me!” he demands, scouring the empty desert and the cliffs for anything or anyone that might be causing this. Of course, he sees nothing and spots no-one. They are completely alone out here save for the sand, dust, and wind.

“H-hurts…” Vash whimpers in response, falling to his knees and doubling over as the pressure in his skull builds up more and more with every passing second. It feels like someone is taking a jackhammer to the inside of his head, striking deeper and deeper into the bone with every strike. He’s gritting his teeth so hard that they’re in danger of breaking, but he’s in far too much agony to ever notice. Right now there’s only him, the pain, and Wolfwood’s distant voice that fades just a little more with every beat of the hammer.

Wolfwood himself has unsheathed the Punisher and dropped it at his side and is kneeling down in front of Vash, gripping him by the shoulders and trying to get through to him. He has no idea if this is working or if it’s just hurting Vash more, as his companion isn’t responding in any way except to scream louder as the pain increases exponentially.

“Shit…Spikey, listen to me! Stay with me, okay? Do you know what’s causing this?” Wolfwood tries to get through to Vash only to be met with more pained cries. The priest is starting to panic now, standing up and yelling at the empty desert around them in search of the culprit.

“Whoever’s doing this, show yourself you damn coward!” He’s aiming the Punisher at nothing and being met with his own voice echoing back at him from the cliffs. He grits his teeth, swearing under his breath and starting to wonder if he should just start shooting and hope to get lucky, when he feels a hand grip at the leg of his pants.

He’s so on-edge that he almost shoots Vash right there, but is able to hold back enough to see that it’s just his companion signaling him, staring up with terrified eyes partially obscured behind those yellow lenses.

“Wh-” Wolfwood starts to ask before he’s immediately cut off by Vash managing to choke out a single, pained word.

“L-Legato!”

Wolfwood feels his blood turn to ice in his veins.

He immediately drops the Punisher to the ground and falls to his knees, holding onto both of Vash’s shoulders with a grip so tight he can feel the imprint of some metal screws underneath the man’s coat. His mind is racing with any potential solutions to this situation, of which there are essentially none. How do you fight off an enemy that’s inside your head? Neither of them had ever seen anyone successfully break out of Legato’s control, and they both knew that Knives’s underling was capable of taking over entire crowds of people. Vash was just one person. One tired, vulnerable person writhing in pain and only avoiding collapsing completely thanks to Wolfwood’s hands on his body. Shit shit shit shit…Why was Legato doing this now anyway? Vash was not an ordinary person, and to take him over this thoroughly would require an immense exertion of power to even-

…Oh. That’s why there had been two weeks of silence. Two weeks of no fighting. Two weeks without being stalked through the desert like a prey animal. Two weeks for Legato to whittle away at Vash’s mind, chipping at his mental defenses until the perfect time to strike arrived.

Wolfwood gritted his teeth as Vash screamed again, a horrible sound he had grown unfortunately used to hearing.

“Listen to me, Spikey, stay with me! You’re stronger than him, dammit! I know you won’t let him beat you that easily!”

He’s not sure if he’s saying these things because he truly believes them or if he’s just trying to get through to Vash. Normally he has an immense amount of faith in his companions abilities, as annoying as he can be sometimes, but he also knows the precision cruelty that Legato is capable of. If the man wants someone hurt, he will find the most efficient way to make it happen, regardless of how well you prepare yourself for his strike.

Wolfwood fears are confirmed true as Vash throws his head back and cries out louder than he ever had before, his eyes burning white and the howl of pain echoing back against the nearby cliffs. Maybe it’s just the way the two voices are resonating with each other, but there almost seems to be a second layer to Vash’s cry. If Wolfwood was feeling particularly poetic at this moment, he would have said that it sounded like the man was screaming through time.

Beautiful white feathers sprout all across Vash’s body, little streaks of white sticking out in every direction like blades piercing the air around them. The man’s screams cut out suddenly as if he no longer had a voice box left to speak with, but his head remained tilted back towards the sky as tears streamed down his cheeks. There’s a horrible cracking sound as something inside of Vash starts to snap, and the man falls forward towards the sand, only supported by his terrified companion and his own twisting bones. The form in Wolfwood’s arm is beginning to mutate, twisting into something that is no longer humanoid and barely resembles the companion he’s gotten to know so well over the past few months. Already the familiar red of Vash’s coat is buried by the sheets of feathers sprouting from his body, transforming the man into something that doesn’t even look like a person anymore, much less a human.

Not for the first time in his life and certainly not for the last, Wolfwood feels afraid.

“No no no…Spikey, snap out of it! You don’t want to do this, remember? You never wanted anything like this to happen again!”

Vash slowly lifts his head up to meet Wolfwood’s gaze, his eyes a blank white void and his canines sharpened into fangs. Two giant wings have sprouted from the side of his face just in front of where his ears are, and they slowly start to wrap around him like a mask as they grow larger. Even without irises, even with most of his face hidden behind those damn feathers, Wolfwood can still see that Vash is terrified.

The fear in those eyes quickly turns into pain as the transformation progresses, Wolfwood useless to do anything to help but still rooted to the spot out of…fear? Obligation? Stupidity? Even he’s not quite sure what motivates him here. Vash doesn’t resemble anything to do with humanity anymore, the shifting body in the priest’s arms twisting and snapping into a mass of feathery limbs and eyes, every one of them turning a deep, fiery gold and pointing up at the sky as if they were begging God Himself to help. The feathers seem to burn wherever they make contact with Wolfwood’s skin, though he can’t be entirely sure if that’s really happening or a result of his mind trying to comprehend the growing form of the rampaging angel before him. Most people would have let go at some point, fled the scene and tried to save themselves. Wolfwood hangs onto what he thinks used to be Vash’s arms, still calling out to him even though he’s not sure if this creature can even understand his words.

There’s a loud crunch as four more wings sprout from Vash’s ‘back’ and Wolfwood feels his heart stop in his chest. A part of him wants to reach for the Punisher by his side and start firing into the growing mass of wings. Every instinct is screaming at him to kill this thing before it kills him and preserve whatever’s left of his own life. The creature in front of him is dangerous, it’s a monster. He can’t even tell which part of it is which, as anything that would have resembled a human body is lost between the tangle of wings, beating against the open air as if they could achieve liftoff despite the way they twist around each other in an impossible tangle of flesh. It’s only at this point that Wolfwood is forced to let go, snatching his Punisher from the ground and stepping back as the angelic mass towers further and further above him. He feels his heart pound against his ribcage as he lifts up the weapon, pointing the long end at the creature in front of him and gritting his teeth. His hand grips the skull in the center of the cross in preparation to pull the trigger, those golden eyes from within the mass swirling and coalescing into a wheel of some kind that stares down at him with the judgment of God Himself. The creature that used to be Vash doesn’t even look truly corporeal anymore, much less like the optimistic idiot that he knows so well, and there’s no telling when it's going to strike. There’s no doubt that Legato is still commanding the angel from within, filling its head with thoughts of violence and destruction and once again stripping away its autonomy in favor of the man’s own twisted desires. Wolfwood isn’t stupid, he knows that Legato is ordering Vash to kill him. Why else would he order the man to transform in the middle of the desert when there’s no-one else around?

Pulling the trigger now might save him. Even if he can’t kill the angel in the state he’s in, it might buy him enough time to escape. He can get away from here while this creature burns itself out, preserving his own life at the cost of his mission. And really, who gives a fuck about his mission at a time like this? He’s here to keep himself alive over anything else, dammit. He can’t protect the kids back at home if he’s dead!

He takes a few more steps back, the wall of wings above him now blacking out the sky. There’s a sound in the air that Wolfwood thinks used to be Vash screaming, but now it just sounds like a hellish chorus that ruptures the empty space around them and threatens to make his head explode if it grows any louder. He’s running out of time to actually defend himself as the burning feathers grow closer and closer. Is it just him, or does the mass of white appear to be moving closer? It’s hard to tell when nothing about its form is stable, every single eye and feather in the amalgamation shifting into each other at random and giving him a headache just by looking at the beast. He has to act now. He has to act now!

“Sorry, Spikey…” Wolfwood mutters under his breath, grip tightening on the Punisher as he aims it at what he thinks is the center of the cluster, gritting his teeth.

Huh.

That’s funny.

Now that he’s holding the weapon out at arm’s length, he can see that his hands are trembling. Wolfwood’s aim is off by a few millimeters, something that never happens to the man anymore. He doesn’t hesitate when he takes a shot. That kind of instinct was beaten out of him long ago. It’s clear for anyone to see that the creature in front of him isn’t Vash anymore, and if he doesn’t defend himself right now he’s just risking his own life for nothing!

So why can’t he pull the damn trigger?

It doesn’t even take a single second for this hesitance to cost him. In the brief moment that Wolfwood spends wrestling with his own feelings, the angel lunges forward. All of a sudden the desert around him is gone, completely engulfed in white as the feathery mass consumes him. Wolfwood cries out and yanks the trigger on the Punisher out of instinct, but the weapon fails to even go off as it is ripped away from his hand by thousands and thousands of white, finger-like appendages. Everywhere the feathers brush against his bare skin feels like needles digging deep into his bone, pulling him up and up and up away from the ground as the golden wheel of eyes manifests above him to gaze upon his tortured form. He thinks he’s screaming in pain, but he can’t be sure. After all, no sound in the universe could ever drown out the angelic chorus resonating through space and time and his tiny, mortal body. He barely even feels his own body anymore, as every shred of sensation that makes Wolfwood human is torn away from him by the mere presence of the angel around him. There is no desert, no twin suns beating away above him. There is only Wolfwood, the pain, and the burning of the angel around him.

Somehow, even after all of this, the priest manages to open his mouth and choke out a few words. His speech is not dictated by logic, not even by a will to survive. It’s pure, human instinct that guides his tongue through the agony.

“C’mon, Spikey! I-It’s me! Y-You know me!”

The feathers continue to wrap up Wolfwood’s body like a snake enveloping its prey. The golden wheel of eyes spins faster, and the edges of his vision begin to fade.

“Please…Please wake up! Don’t let him beat you like this!” He’s not even sure if he’s looking at the angel anymore or just the afterimage it’s left in his psyche. If he dies to a creature like this, will there even be a soul left to condemn to hell?

Wolfwood feels the song fully consume his consciousness as he spits out one last desperate word, spoken more like a prayer than a plea for survival.

“Vash-!”

In the distance, he thinks he hears the sound of someone crying out in pain as his world fades to white.

Chapter Text

For what feels like an eternity, all that Vash can see is white.

Not a gentle white either, like the feathers on a baby thomas or the soft clouds in the sky above. No, this is the kind of light that blinds you just for daring to look directly at it. It’s the afterimage left behind by the twin suns after they scorch your retinas and leave you unable to see anything else but their silhouette even after you turn away from them. Vash doesn’t completely understand what it is he’s seeing, but he knows it’s a monster, he knows that it's uncontrollable, and he knows that it's him.

He tries to scream but the feathers are growing inside whatever’s left of his lungs and throat, suffocating him and snuffing out his voice before it can even leave his lips. He’s not sure where his human body is amid the mass of wings and light. He’s not even sure if he still has one. Every single one of his dozens upon dozens of eyes is sending information back to whatever can be counted as a brain in this form, and he feels like he can simultaneously see everything around him and like he’s going blind. It’s too much, far too much. The familiar sands of the desert have been buried under a torrent of new senses, new thoughts and feelings that no physical person should ever be able to comprehend. Except Vash isn’t entirely physical, is he? His mind, burdened by his proximity and exposure to humanity, isn’t properly equipped to see the world through the eyes of an angel. Soon enough, though, it will be. Whatever limited perspective that humans have of the universe will be stripped away and Vash will finally be able to understand what he’s experiencing.

He’s just not sure how much of him will be left once that happens.

He wants to cry, but he doesn’t think he’s physically capable of tearing up like this. It’s like the golden eyes floating and sprouting in fractal patterns across his ‘body’ are mere portals to transmit information to his disconnected mind. This isn’t his body anymore, it’s a rampaging beast that his consciousness is trapped inside, fully aware of what’s happening but incapable of stopping it. Whatever Vash is seeing, whatever he’s experiencing, is no more a part of him than a shadow or a reflection would be.

He feels like he’s falling apart. All of the despair, the terror, the helplessness that’s built up inside of him only serves to force the transformation more. Legato doesn’t even have a hand in this anymore, having withdrawn the moment it became too dangerous to connect to the mind of something so vast and incomprehensible. Somehow this just makes things worse, though, since it just goes to show that Vash doesn’t need Legato’s influence to be dangerous. He doesn’t need Legato’s help to become something like this.

From a few dozen of his golden eyes, he can see a speck of black amidst the sea of white. Locked in the middle of the literal typhoon of feathers is a figure, entangled in thin white threads and writhing in agony. Vash tries to let him go, tries to stop hurting him, but it’s a useless effort. Nothing he does lessens Wolfwood’s pain, nothing makes the feathers pull away no matter how hard Vash beats his wings against the metal bars of the cage in his mind. He’s forced to watch helplessly as Wolfwood’s screams grow weaker and his body goes limp, the wheels of eyes circling around him and taking in his best friend’s suffering from every possible angle. God, Wolfwood probably thinks that he’s completely gone, doesn’t he? He’s being murdered by his best friend and he thinks that he’s all alone in the end, that there’s nothing left of the man he’d spent several months travelling with.

Vash isn’t sure if it’s the feathers or the tears choking him as he tries to call out to his friend, his shattered mind fading to white as Wolfwood’s eyes grow dull.

When this is all over, whatever’s left of Vash might not even know what he did. He might not remember that he’s a murderer. Even if he does, what’s left of him might not care. These thoughts alone are enough to send waves of anguish through his soul, echoed by the intensity of the chorus in place of a human throat that can scream. The only thing he’s sure of in this mess of feathers is that, if he still has a physical body, it’s sure to be crying by now.

Then a voice cuts through the light and snaps his mind back into reality with just a single word cried out in desperation and agony. The angelic abomination freezes up as it hears Wolfwood shout its name in its core, grounding it and fusing together mind and body once more.

Vash doesn’t know if Wolfwood can hear him as he screams back in desperation and the feathers start to recede.

“NICK-!”

Then everything fades to black.

*****

Vash wakes up with a start, sitting up suddenly with a strangled cry as his eyes readjust to the bright beams of the suns above him. His mind is racing, his head is pounding, and everything hurts. He hasn’t felt this much pain in his joints since last time he was dragged to the hospital as Eriks, and even then things never really ached this much. All of his limbs feel heavy and it’s like there’s a slight lag between his thoughts and his movements, which only adds to the disorientation he’s feeling. Visually, the world around him is slightly off in a way he can’t quite place. Everything about the empty desert plains looks normal, but the way that Vash is perceiving it is wrong in some way and he doesn’t know why. He’s sitting up with his back up against some kind of large rock with a flat top, and there’s a heavy fog in his mind whenever he tries to recall what happened to land him in a place like this. Had they been attacked? Did he get drunk and pass out in the desert somewhere? If that’s the case, why had Wolfwood let him wander off like th-

Just the thought of Wolfwood is enough to snap Vash back into harsh reality, the memories of what happened flowing through him as he’s rooted to the spot in horror. Legato had…and Wolfwood was…

He can already feel tears gathering in the corners of his eyes as he looks around in a panic for Nick, the Punisher, anything that would suggest he hadn’t accidentally killed his best friend. His body still isn’t cooperating so he’s unable to stand up, still stuck in place and struggling to focus his disjointed vision enough to search for his friend. No matter how much he scans the horizon, though, he can’t find any trace of the priest. An icy terror digs into Vash’s heart as he opens up his mouth to try and call out his companion’s name.

“Wolfwo-!” He can’t even get past the second syllable, however, before he collapses into a coughing fit, a feeling like there’s something lodged in his windpipe and keeping him from speaking properly overcoming him without warning .

He doesn’t understand what’s causing this until he manages to cough up three small, white feathers, and everything suddenly makes a lot more sense.

Vash had been so consumed by his panic and fear for Wolfwood’s safety that he had completely neglected to notice his own physical state after such a transformation. He had just woken up, acknowledged that his body felt really strange, and then immediately ignored this realization once he remembered what happened to Wolfwood. Looking down at his arms now, though, he feels his heart stop in his chest and his throat tighten with tears that refuse to come out yet.

There are still long strands of feathers sprouting out from his skin and between the joints of his prosthetic, fusing together with the red of his coat into a semi-biological mess that shouldn’t be able to exist in this reality, but somehow still does. As far as Vash can tell, they’re growing randomly across his entire body in tufts that flutter gently in the arid desert breeze. At least, the unnatural itch across his skin suggests that this is the case. Not only that, but Vash can ‘feel’ along the edges of the feathers, in a way. It’s an unusual sensation, similar to how disconnected he felt from touch when he first got his prosthetic arm. He’s ‘feeling’ the metal joints in his arm and the rock at his back, but none of it is quite right. It’s like the pressure of touch carries over without any of the nuance like texture or temperature. It’s disjointed, just like his mind had been when his body had turned into that monster back there.

A shudder runs through his body as he watches the feathers sway in the wind. He can’t fully see himself, which means he can’t be sure how inhuman he looks right now. Even the feathers he can see are bad enough, but what if the rest of him is equally unnatural? Hell, his vision hasn’t fully returned to normal even after he woke up, as he still feels like he’s seeing the world around him from multiple angles at once. There’s a strange sensation coming from his back, like he can feel the rock wall behind him more thoroughly than he should be able to through his coat. Shit, does he still have wings!? How the hell is he going to hide something like that from other people? He won’t be able to go into towns anymore and everyone will know just from seeing him what kind of creature he is. Wolfwood won’t even be able to look at him without being reminded of the time Vash nearly killed him, and that’s assuming that the priest is even still alive!

Vash brings his legs up to his chest and tries to fight back a sob, but like so many times before, is unsuccessful. Even crying doesn’t feel normal anymore, and he of all people should know. He’s used to tears, but this time is not at all like the thousands of times in the past that Vash has broken down before. These tears burn the corners of his eyes, flowing down his cheeks and brushing against a few stray feathers on their way down. A million thoughts race through his head, all of them anguished. What if he can’t turn back to normal? What if he’s stuck like this for however long he manages to survive on his own? What if all his attempts at blending in with humanity were completely futile? What if this was how things were always going to end and Legato merely sped up the inevitable? More than anything else, though, Vash can’t shake the fear in his soul that something terrible happened to Wolfwood.

What the hell happened to Wolfwood?

It’s luck, in the end, that causes his gaze to fall on a tiny plant at his feet. It’s small and unassuming, growing up amidst the desert soil despite the permanent drought that envelopes this lifeless planet. It’s a strange thing to focus on in the middle of a panic attack, but Vash can’t help but wonder why this particular one is so small. In general, plants on Gunsmoke are fairly uncommon, but this species of desert weed is prevalent enough out in the sand that Vash has seen it hundreds of times before on his travels. Normally it comes up to about waist height when it’s fully grown, which this one looks to be. Is this just an usually small member of the species or…?

It takes a full minute for the pieces to click together in Vash’s head, partially due to disbelief and partially to denial. He woke up in a haze with a body that he already knows has been affected by the forced transformation in a place he doesn’t recognize. Wolfwood and him had been out in the open before, so why did he wake up against this flat rock? Come to think of it, it’s not really a rock at all, is it? It stretches out in both directions for as far as he can see and has an unusually flat top. It’s almost like a part of the desert just rose up a few feet out of nowhere, which is a geological phenomenon he’d never seen before in over a century of traveling this planet.

No, it’s not a rock at all, Vash realizes with a dawning dread. It looks exactly like the cliffs Wolfwood and him had been traveling towards earlier, except now they’re somehow only three-quarters his height.

…It’s not the world around him that changed, is it?

This realization sparks a fresh wave of panic inside of Vash as he withdraws more into himself, almost disappearing into his coat as he starts to take in panicked gasps of air. Out here in the open is the most dangerous place to be when he’s like this. Before he was a walking target because of the price on his head. Now he’s a walking target because he’s huge. It’s not enough to be stuck in some horrible half-transformed state, is it? No, he had to remain the same size as the winged abomination even when he returned to ‘normal’.

“O-Okay. Al-Alright. ”

It’s the first thing he’s said since Wolfwood’s name, a humorless laugh underlying his words as his metal fingers tap nervously against the ground. Things are very much not ‘okay’, but Vash needs some way to keep himself from hyperventilating. He’s always had a habit of saying some of his thoughts out loud to keep himself grounded, and right now his head is too cluttered to verbalize anything besides a fearful acknowledgement of the reality he’s unwillingly found himself in. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want any of this. He just wanted to be able to pass as human, but Knives had to rip that away from him like he did everything else. He took away Rem, he took away Vash’s autonomy, he took away his life, he took away Wolfwood-

Wolfwood-!

The realization hits Vash like a train as the pieces fully slot together in his mind and his despair is temporarily reignited into a sense of hope. He had previously assumed that something terrible had happened to his companion since he wasn’t able to find him after waking up. The problem with this is that he was searching way off into the horizon, as he assumed he was still the same size he was before Legato took control. There’s a chance, then, that the reason he hadn’t found Wolfwood was because he was looking in the wrong direction!

Keeping all his movements slight and careful not to disturb the comparatively fragile environment around him, Vash, turns his eyes down to the ground beside him. Almost immediately, he spots a crumbled pile of black cloth on the ground about twenty feet away from him, and for the first time since waking up he feels a wave of relief rush through him.

“Nick!” He calls out, not thinking as he scrambles over to his companion and scoops him up into his hands, completely ignoring the way waves of pain shoot through his body whenever he moves. If he had been in a more logical state of mind, he wouldn’t have done this. He doesn’t know whether Wolfwood is injured or not, and if he was then it would actually be more dangerous to try and move him without proper precautions. Unfortunately Vash is far too desperate to make sure that his friend is actually alive to stop to think about something like that, and he feels like his heart is about to pound out of his chest as he holds the priest up in front of him, feeling tears prick at the corners of his eyes again as he searches for any signs of life from the human.

It’s only when he sees the gentle rise and fall of Wolfwood’s chest that he feels like he can finally breathe again, a relieved sob escaping him as he curls his fingers around the tiny figure in his hands protectively.

It’s like his world starts to move again after an agonizingly long period of time where everything felt like it was paralyzed. All of the previous despair that Vash had felt about his transformation and his current inhuman state are forgotten about, completely irrelevant now that he knows Wolfwood is alive. Vash hadn’t killed his best friend by accident. Nicholas is alive and he’s safe!

For once, the smile that adorns his face is genuine as he leans back against the cliff, his fear of being out in the open forgotten about as he carefully looks over Wolfwood’s form in search of any visible injuries. Vash can’t completely rule out internal damage, but at least there’s no blood that he can see or any signs of broken bones. The man’s breathing is steady too, which implies that he’s unharmed despite how horrible Vash’s transformation must have been for him.

…Oh, right. He saw Vash when he was like that, didn’t he? The man had been forced to witness firsthand just how terrifying his companion’s true nature was. It hadn’t really been a secret, as they had both known about it the whole time, but it wasn’t exactly something that the two liked talking about. Occasionally there would be a brief allusion to Vash’s inhumanity before Wolfwood would quickly change the subject. Even now the typhoon can’t be sure if Nick did that for his own sake or Vash’s.

“I’m…I’m sorry, Nick.”

He mumbles under his breath, the loose feathers sticking out of him starting to tremble from something other than the breeze. Vash has never been a stranger to crying, but right now he’s been doing it for so long that all his tears have dried up. All that he can manage right now is a choked gasp as his metal fingers curl around Wolfwood’s tiny form, shielding him from anything or anyone else who might get to see him weakened like this. Nick may not have been physically transformed like Vash had, but his crumpled form and the tiny lines around his eyes are little signs that he hasn’t been handling the journey nearly as well as he liked to pretend sometimes.

…He looks so tired.

Vash realizes as the seconds tick by. He hasn’t made an effort to wake his friend up yet because…well, honestly he’s just afraid of how Wolfwood would react seeing him like this. The last time the man saw Vash, after all, it had been when the rampaging angel had nearly killed him. Even if he’s okay right now, that can’t be an experience he’s keen to relive. Vash wouldn’t really blame him if the priest shot him on instinct upon waking up. He can’t even see his own face right now, but he knows that it’s not like it was before. None of him is ‘like before’ anymore, is it?

So remains frozen in place, leaning back against the cliff and mind hazy from the incoming adrenaline crash that’s bound to happen at some point. Now that he’s not in immediate danger, it’s getting harder and harder to process the world around him. The whistling of the wind through the desert sounds distant and muffled, and everything that isn’t him or the tiny person in his hands grows blurry like paints bleeding into each other. Vash doesn’t even feel connected to his body anymore, but more like he’s watching the world blend together through a window that separates him from the waking world, keeping him locked out of reality entirely.

Then the small weight in his hands starts to stir, letting out a groan of pain as he sits up and clutches his head. The window shatters and suddenly Vash is back in his body again.

His mind goes on autopilot when he locks eyes with Wolfwood, giving him that same fake smile that he always uses when he doesn’t know what else to do.

“H…Hi…”

Wolfwood stares blankly up at Vash from his spot on the man’s palms and blinks in utter confusion.

“...What the fuck!?”

Chapter Text

To say that Wolfwood feels like death would be a gross understatement. Death would likely be a far more pleasant experience than this. Every bone, every last joint in his body seems to be enacting a mutiny against their owner. It feels like he was meant to die hours ago and the reaper mistakenly passed him by on its way to another, fresher soul. Wolfwood’s head is pounding, his skin feels like it’s been pierced by a million tiny needles, and merely breathing makes him feel like he’s swallowing hot coal.

He lets out a groan of pain as he sits up, the light of the desert blinding him instantly. Christ, he feels like his skull is about to split open. Wolfwood clutches at his head and lifts his gaze up away from the ground, blinking a few times as his vision slowly returns to normal.

And immediately he’s greeted with the sight of Vash, absolutely gigantic and still half-transformed, looking down at him with one of the fakest smiles Wolfwood’s ever had the displeasure of witnessing.

“H…Hi…”

Wolfwood hates how his immediate instinct is to reach for the Punisher and shoot Vash to hell. He’s barely able to stop himself from taking such a rash action, but his right hand does reach up towards the place where the weapon is normally slung over his back. It’s lucky for both of them, then, that it is currently absent, but Vash does notice the motion and his face falls.

“...What the fuck!?”

It’s not the most elegant of reactions, but what is Wolfwood supposed to say in response to the giant angel in front of him? He wishes he could say that Vash’s size was the only unnatural thing about his appearance right now, but of course they wouldn’t be so lucky. His companion has sprouted six wings from his back, each of them adorning a graceful plumage of white feathers that stretch down to the dusty desert ground below. All six of them are folded right now, but Wolfwood can tell just from the sight of them that they’d easily cast a shadow over their surroundings if Vash extended them fully. Running along the bones of the wings is a line of golden eyes, wide open and staring directly at the priest’s insignificant stature with a gaze that bores into his very soul. The rest of Vash’s body has remained humanoid, at least, but that doesn’t mean it looks normal. Long tufts of feathers sprout out at his wrists, elbows, ankles, and various mismatched areas across his back and thighs. Even though Wolfwood is nowhere near them, he can’t help but keep an eye on their locations as he recalls just how much it hurt to be touched by the angel’s wings before.

Vash’s face was affected the most by the transformation. It’s still recognizably his by structure and shape, but nothing about it looks human anymore. Below his regular teal gaze are two more sets of eyes, all six of them looking down at Wolfwood with an expression full of guilt and fear. The edges of his hair in front of his ears have grown much longer, shifting from hair to feather and then into two medium-sized wings on either side of his face that shift and emote with him. Right now they are folded up tightly and pressed against the sides of his head, reminding Wolfwood of the way a cat will flatten its ears back if frightened. All throughout Vash’s hair are white feathers, interweaving with the blond strands and partially growing down the back of his neck like a bird’s crest. Lastly, as the priest had seen when Vash attempted to force a smile earlier, the man’s fangs have grown much more prominent. This was the only feature about Vash that was noticeably inhuman before, but they were subtle enough that most people wouldn’t notice them unless they knew the truth about what he really was. Wolfwood had always avoided drawing attention to them before, but it’s kind of hard to ignore them now when they’re sharpened into points that could easily tear someone’s throat out if Vash wasn’t incapable of consciously hurting a fly. Nicholas just tries to avoid looking at them, attempts to focus on his companion’s eyes, and finds that equally difficult now that he has six of them on his face alone.

“I…I’m sorry.” Vash tries saying, having the same tone of voice that someone would use when talking to a cornered animal, even though he’s the far more powerful one of the two right now.

“It was…a little touch and go there for a moment but I-I think I’m alright now. You’re alright too, most importantly, so we should be fine!”

This is the most pathetic attempt at Vash’s usual optimism that Wolfwood’s ever had the displeasure of witnessing. The man doesn’t even believe any of the words he’s saying, he’s just defaulting to this state because he doesn’t know what else to do. Wolfwood grits his teeth, silently swearing that he’ll beat the hell out of Legato himself for doing this to them. The man tried to kill him, after all. That means their contract should be void and Wolfwood is a free man.

The first thing he’s going to do with his freedom is march up to Knives and personally blow a hole through his goddamn skull.

“Spikey I…this is…”

Nick runs a hand through his hair, pulling his sunglasses out of his suit and using them to block out the worst of the suns’ rays. It’s not much, but it makes the pressure in his head go down just a little bit.

“I-I know.” Vash’s smile fades again, all six eyes turning their gaze towards the ground, unable to look at Wolfwood directly.

“What the hell happened to you? You look like-” Nick starts to say, before a realization that he’d overlooked earlier shoots through him.

“Are you holding me!?”

Vash flinches, the wings on the sides of his head lifting up to hide his face from the human.

“S-Sorry! One second, I’ll just…”

“No, wait, Spikey-!” Wolfwood starts to say, realizing his mistake before Vash drops him directly on his ass on the top of the cliffs. The priest lets out another grunt of pain as something in his spine pops from the sudden impact with the ground. Vash makes himself as small as possible next to the cliffs, leaning down so all of his body except his face is hidden and the two of them are on more even ground. God, even when he’s transformed into some angelic abomination, he can still manage to look like a kicked puppy when hurt, and six eyes just makes it even worse. Wolfwood can’t even look at him directly, sighing as he retrieves a cigarette and lights it, finally feeling a bit of relief when the smoke hits his lungs. It doesn’t exactly fix the situation, but it’s better than nothing at least.

“...I didn’t say you had to put me down.” Wolfwood says, picking every one of his words carefully. If he thought that Vash was quick to blame himself before, he knows that it’s bound to be much worse after how close he came to killing his friend by accident. Even now, Vash is very visibly a nervous wreck, and Wolfwood will have to avoid saying anything that implies blame.

Christ, it’s just like the kids back at the orphanage.

“It’s probably better like this anyway. This way I can’t drop you or…or anything.”

The pause in Vash’s words makes it clear that ‘or anything’ was not originally going to be his choice of words. Wolfwood decides very quickly not to push that line of questioning and just leave the man alone.

“It doesn’t matter that much, Spikey. Don’t worry about it.” The priest exhales a breath of smoke, watching the ashes fall from the end of the cigarette and blend into the dusty soil below.

“Neither of us are dead, right? So already things could be much worse.”

“B-But-!” Vash starts to protest, eyes widening in surprise that Wolfwood is the one taking the more optimistic approach between the two of them.

“Can it, Needle-Noggin!” Wolfwood cuts him off, climbing to his feet and ignoring the ache in his lower spine as he does so. The look in Vash’s eyes right now is nothing less than that of a kicked puppy, the wings on his head drooping as his face falls. Nick feels a little guilty about this reaction, but still would much rather have this than let Vash go down another mental spiral.

“We’re alive, alright, dumbass? That’s more important than anything else right now! As bad as things are, they’d be a whole lot worse if one of us was dead, which didn’t happen. Understood?”

Vash opens his mouth as if to protest, before shutting it again. A full ten seconds pass before he’s able to reply.

“...Okay.” He says, voice uncharacteristically soft. Wolfwood grits his teeth and bites down on the edge of the cigarette. Whatever it is that Vash experienced when Legato took over must have been horrible to reduce the infuriatingly bubbly man to a state like this.

It’s with a sigh of smoke and the crunch of sand under his shoes that Wolfwood begins to approach Vash, earning a nervous reaction from the angel as his wings flare up and he flinches away from the edge of the cliff. The feathers on the side of his head move to shield his face, hiding the tiny human from Vash’s vision as if he’s honestly afraid of the man that he could crush under a single finger.

“H-hey, you don’t wanna do that! It’s too close to the edge, Wolfwood! You might fall!”

The priest sneers down at the ground, biting back a retort with every ounce of self-control he has.

“Yeah right…the ‘edge’. That’s what he’s worried about here.” He thinks, not sure whether to appreciate Vash’s concern for him or to find it patronizing.

He’s going to go with ‘worrying’ for now, that Vash distrusts himself enough to consider himself a danger to Wolfwood even when he’s in full control of his body. Legato isn’t here anymore. Vash in no way poses a threat to the human as long as he’s careful, yet he still pulls away from his friend as if just looking at the man will make him burst into flames. It’s a little sad, to be honest, to witness someone with so little faith in their own self.

“I’m not going to fall off the cliff, Spikey. I’m more careful than that, alright?” Wolfwood says, his words accompanied by another cloud of smoke in the wind. He keeps his hands frozen to his sides so he avoids reaching for the Punisher on instinct like he did last time. It feels weird to be without it out in the open, and he’ll definitely have to ask Vash to look for it later, but he really doesn’t need it right now and he doesn’t want to hurt Vash like that again. If any of their enemies see the eighty-foot angel and decide they want to take a shot at killing the duo, then that’s their problem. Wolfwood doesn’t exactly feel like he’s in much danger at the moment, despite what Vash thinks.

…Funny how their usual dynamic has completely shifted, and all thanks to Legato deciding to be more of a shithead than usual.

“Okay, okay! Just…be careful, okay?” Vash whines, gripping the sides of the cliff with both hands and lowering himself to be as close to eye level as he can get with Wolfwood. It’s more than a little unnerving to have six of those bright teal eyes locked onto him, but the priest does his best not to show it. He can only hope that his dark shades hide the way that his gaze lingers on the ground instead of looking his friend in the eyes.

He ends up sitting down right next to Vash, his back turned to the angel and his head tilted up towards the sky as the last of his cigarette burns to ashes. He doesn’t even hesitate to pull another one from the box, lighting it just the same and ignoring the way his throat seizes up like it wants to forcibly expel the ash from his lungs. For a full minute, the two of them just sit there, neither of them willing to break the uneasy silence that has settled over the scene.

“...You can’t change back?”

Wolfwood is the first to speak up again, his tone even and nonchalant as if this is a normal scenario and not the most terrifying thing that has ever happened to them. Vash looks away, his expression shameful even if Wolfwood isn’t able to see it.

“...No.” He admits, the feathers on his wings fluffing up. It’s unclear if it’s an intentional movement or more instinctual, but one of his head-wings lifts itself up over the tiny priest, blocking out the sun and shielding him from the worst of the desert heat. The gesture is appreciated, even if Wolfwood doesn’t tend to vocalize his gratitude.

“I tried. I just don’t know how to fix…this.” Vash continues, tapping a single metal finger against the ground a few meters away from Wolfwood.

“What happened to me wasn’t…it wasn’t my choice. Transforming wasn’t my choice. Turning into this…this thing wasn’t my choice.”

It was never a choice. Not a single one of his shifts had been voluntary. His autonomy and control had been forcibly ripped away from him, leaving him confused and afraid in a body he doesn’t understand.

Wolfwood doesn’t say anything, but visibly grits his teeth in anger. Legato is going to pay for this, he’ll make sure of that. Vash seems to realize that his words had shattered the artificial idleness of the scene and quickly backtracked, defaulting to the same fake smile he always used when he had no idea how else to react.

“A-at least we won’t have to worry about being attacked like this! You’d have to be an especially stupid bandit to attack an 80-foot monster for no reason!” He laughs. The ends of his wings are trembling.

Wolfwood takes a deep breath, willing himself not to comment on Vash’s forced optimism.

“We should be safe as long as we stay away from populated areas. There’s a lot of open desert and not that many people out here, so as long as we’re cautious we shouldn’t be spotted by anyone who would try and start trouble.”

Vash’s eyes widen, and for a moment it looks like he wants to say something, before he bites back whatever it was and gives a more normal response.

“Yeah, that’s smart. We’ll be fine for now as long as-”

As long as Legato doesn’t try to target them again.

“As long as we’re careful about this.”

Vash clearly doesn’t believe anything that he’s saying, but he seems unwilling or incapable of arguing with Wolfwood right now. Maybe he’s just still in shock and he’ll be back to normal in just a few hours. Even if ‘normal’ for Vash is just an endless sea of unhealthy coping mechanisms put in place to protect a mind that should have shut down from trauma long ago.

“That’s our plan then. Let’s see how far we can get before the suns set.” Wolfwood says, standing up and turning to face his companion as he throws what’s left of the cigarette to the ground and crushes it underneath his boot. “By the way, Spikey, what the hell happened to the Punisher?”

Vash’s eyes widen in sync as he pulls away from the cliff, looking to the right and the left like he would when he was normal sized as if that’s going to help him spot an item the size of his index finger right now. He realizes his mistake quickly enough, glancing sheepishly down at Wolfwood before actually scanning the ground around them, wings arching up like the ears of a cat when it catches sight of its prey before letting out a successful ‘aha!’ when he spots a familiar cross shape laying flat on the ground not more than thirty feet away from where he found Wolfwood earlier.

“Found it!” He says, sounding a little proud of himself for actually being able to help out for once, before lifting the Punisher up and carefully placing it down in front of Wolfwood. The priest notices that Vash is careful not to make physical contact with him, simply dropping the weapon on the ground and immediately withdrawing his arm as if he’s afraid contact with Wolfwood will burn him. Nicholas once again doesn’t comment on this, simply slinging the weapon over his back and looking up at the angel with as neutral an expression as he can manage.

“We should have at least five hours of daylight left if we start moving now. If we start heading east instead of sticking to our previous path, we can skip right past the populated areas and make it to a big stretch of empty land before sunset.” Wolfwood says, willing himself not to light up a third cigarette no matter how much he wants to.

“Okay…” Vash responds with a distracted tone as he looks over in the direction they’d come from earlier today as if he expects to see someone approaching them in the distance. Then his expression shifts as a realization hits him and he turns back to look at Wolfwood, placing his chin on the edge of the cliff as if it were a table at a bar.

“Hang on, how are we going to travel? You won’t be able to keep up with me while I’m…when I’m like this!” He looks genuinely concerned, looking at Wolfwood with those ridiculous puppy eyes he gets when he’s begging the priest not to make another stupid decision. Only this time it’s multiplied by six.

“You only just realized this!?” Wolfwood asks, exasperated. It’s so easy to forget the reason why he was hired to be Vash’s bodyguard until the man pulls shit like this.

“Just put me in your stupid collar. I’m not gonna be running after your giant ass for the next six hundred iles. It’s time that you pull your weight for once.”

“I’m not a Thomas…” Vash whines, looking aside and noticeably hesitant. “Do I really gotta? Maybe we should think about this a little bit more before-”

He’s cut off by Wolfwood hitting him on the nose with the Punisher.

“Owwww…Okay okay…”

“That’s better.”

Vash clearly is not fond of this solution at all, but he doesn’t have the energy or brain cells left to argue with Nicholas on this one, especially since the priest is even more stubborn than he is, as impossible as that seems. All he can do is look dejected and place his right hand palm-up in front of Wolfwood, turning his head to the side so he doesn’t have to see just how small his companion is compared to him right now.

Wolfwood hesitates for only the briefest second, seeing the way those feathers sprout up at his wrist and remembering the way they burned when they were wrapped around his body, strangling him and ripping him apart at an atomic level. He’s barely able to suppress a shudder as he steps forward onto Vash’s palm, praying that the angel didn’t notice his moment of weakness.

Luckily for him, Vash didn’t see the way he faltered, or at the very least he didn’t say anything. He just carefully lifts the man up off the ground, going far slower than he reasonably should just to make absolutely sure that Wolfwood doesn’t lose his balance. About ten feet up in the air and he just pauses, staring down at the human in his hand with six piercing eyes. Nicholas tries not to say anything, standing there awkwardly in his companion’s palm, before one too many seconds pass in silence.

“...Did you up and die on me or something, Spikey?” Wolfwood asks, trying not to pay attention to just how high up he is. He’d probably survive a fall from this height, but it wouldn’t be pleasant. Vash blinks a few times, the priest’s voice snapping him back to reality.

“Not that easily, no.” He responds, lifting Wolfwood up and placing him carefully in his collar, tilting his head to the side to avoid accidentally making contact with his feathers. He’s still not ready to risk that quite yet, which Wolfwood is silently grateful for. He trusts Vash, but it’s hard not to remember the way they tore through his very soul when the angel transformed.

Wolfwood settles into the side of Vash’s neck, the tall collar protecting him from the heat of the suns and the desert wind. He rests his feet on a small sheet of metal sticking out above his companion’s collarbone, sighing as he lets the Punisher rest beside him. At least this way he won’t have to carry the heavy weapon for the remainder of the journey. It’s the smallest of silver linings, but Wolfwood will still take it.

“Are you alright?” Vash asks, the vibrations from his voice shaking the human slightly, though not enough to knock him off-balance.

“I’m fine, Spikey. Trust me, it’s not my safety that we should be worrying about here.” Wolfwood responds, removing his shades now that Vash can’t see his face from where he is. His companion lets out the smallest of whines, still nervous about this but unwilling to argue with Nick while the Punisher is in perfect eye-jabbing range.

“Okay then…Okay!” Vash says, putting every ounce of strength he can muster into forcing that fake-upbeat tone he always has into the last word. It doesn’t fool either of them for a moment, but it’s all that Vash has right now.

Nick looks up at the small scraps of blue sky he can see through Vash’s feathers as the angel starts to walk in an even pace through the empty desert. Both of them are silently praying they’ll get far enough away from this place before the sun sets. Maybe then they’ll actually feel safe.

Chapter Text

Vash tries to avoid looking up at the suns as they travel. He doesn’t really want to know how much time has passed, how long the two of them have spent in this uneasy silence that they’re both too afraid to break. What’s strange is that Vash is used to spending hours on end in silence with his companion as they travel through the desert. Wolfwood isn’t exactly a very talkative guy and Vash isn’t going to force someone into a conversation they don’t want to be a part of, so the duo typically end up going ages without saying a word to each other. Vash never minded it before. It honestly felt peaceful, in a way, to have a friend who wasn’t obsessed with his history or his exploits like the rest of the planet seemed to be.

Why, then, does this silence bother him so much?

Vash’s wings fold closer against his back like he’s attempting to make himself seem smaller, for all the good that it does. He knows that Wolfwood is still there, still safe. He can feel the weight of the tiny human against his neck, still breathing and still just as unharmed as he was when he woke up. He’s okay. They’re okay. Wolfwood is fine, even if Vash can’t see him right now.

The continuous period of quiet gives the angel plenty of time to think, as unpleasant as the thoughts that race though his head might be. No matter what, he keeps coming back to the way that Wolfwood has instinctively reached for his weapon upon just waking up and seeing Vash like this. Worst of all, Vash can’t even say that he blames him. The man had almost been murdered by his best friend, almost torn asunder by a force too powerful for him to comprehend, and yet here he is now letting the same abomination carry him through the desert like a damn pack animal. He’s afraid of Vash’s more monstrous forms, no matter how much he pretends to not be affected by anything. He’d been frightened enough to react with killing instinct to the sight of his best friend’s face, but he still trusts Vash enough to literally put his life in the angel’s hands? That can’t be right. It’s not right. Vash should have tried harder to convince Wolfwood that there was another option then the two of them sticking together like this. Doesn’t the priest understand that it's dangerous to be around him now? At any moment Vash could lose control again and this time be unable to stop himself from killing Wolfwood by accident. At any time Legato could attempt another takeover that they’d both be helpless to stop. It would be the objectively smarter decision for Wolfwood to cut his losses now and just leave, especially now that Vash is literally the biggest target around for hundreds of iles. Whatever reason he has for following the man this far can’t be worth his life. Next time they stop, Vash will have to try and convince Wolfwood that-

He barely gets through that thought when he suddenly feels the scent of smoke tickle his nose. Vash immediately lifts up a hand to his mouth as he starts to cough, almost shaking Wolfwood from his current position above his collarbone. The priest lets out an angry explanation and jabs his elbow into Vash’s neck, gripping the sling of the Punisher so that it doesn’t slip from his grasp.

“What the hell are you doing, Spikey! Be more careful!” He yells, Vash turning his head to the side to address the tiny human as best he can.

“Are you smoking!?” Vash exclaims, aghast. “No wonder it suddenly felt like I was going to choke! C’mon, Wolfwood, you know I hate breathing in that stuff!”

“Keep griping and I’ll put this one out on your coat. It’s been two hours and I need a smoke or else I’m going to suffocate.” Wolfwood takes another deep inhale from the cigarette, completely ignoring the way Vash whines in protest.

“Fresh air isn’t going to suffocate you, Wolfwood! You’ll survive another few hours without them, at least until we get to where we’re going!” “The hell I will, Spikey. You can handle a bit of smoke, especially if it distracts you from your moping.”

Vash has stopped walking entirely at this point, too busy arguing with Wolfwood who has buried himself deeper in his companion’s coat to avoid being glared at.

“I’m not moping! I was perfectly fine until you started blowing poison in my face!” Vash lies, feathers all over his body sticking up like the fur of an angry cat. This only makes Wolfwood laugh in amusement at the sight.

“I’ve seen you survive bullets to all of your vital organs, and some smoke is what does you in? Some damn angel you are.” Wolfwood punctuates his point by intentionally aiming his next breath of smoke at Vash’s lowest column of eyes, causing him to squint, fight back another cough, and flap his head-wings in annoyance.

“Wolfwood!”

Whatever Vash was going to say next is cut off as one of the feathers from his wings just barely brushes against Wolfwood’s wrist and both men freeze in place, their disagreement forgotten about immediately. For a terrifying few moments the two of them remain completely silent, silently expecting Wolfwood’s hand to burst into flames or turn to dust or something similarly grotesque and horrible. Five, ten, fifteen, then thirty seconds pass with the only noise around them being the gentle wind through the desert, Vash looking down in horror at his companion and Wolfwood staring at his hand like he expects the pain from earlier to return. It’s with great effort and terror that Vash manages to force out a single strangled word.

“...Nick?”

As if broken from a spell, the priest reaches up and grabs one of the flight feathers of the head-wings, gripping it tightly like he would the sling of the Punisher and making Vash cry out in fear.

“Nick what the hell are you doing!?” He yells, pulling his head away from the priest and causing him to lose his balance and fall back into the cloth of Vash’s collar with a small ‘oof’.

“Huh, guess we were worrying for nothing then. That’s nice to know, at least.”

The noise Vash makes is somewhere between a choked gasp and a strangled cry, immediately reaching up to grab Wolfwood and yank the tiny priest away from his nest in the angel’s collar. Vash holds his companion up in front of him, clenched tightly in his fist with only his arms and upper body free, staring down at him with six eyes that all convey the same dumbstruck fear.

“What the hell were you thinking!?” He yells, Wolfwood looking back up at him with a blank expression. Silently, he prays to God that the slight blush on his cheeks isn’t too noticeable when he’s this much smaller than Vash. Damn, the angel really had just snatched him up like it was nothing, hadn’t he?

“It didn’t hurt me the first time, did it? I was just proving that we were acting like idiots being so afraid of something as stupid as a bunch of feathers.” Wolfwood responds as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He honestly looks a little annoyed that Vash is reacting so badly to this. Did he honestly think that Wolfwood would put himself in danger without calculating the risk first?

Well actually, yes, but that’s not something that he’s going to convince Wolfwood of anytime soon.

Vash stares down at the human, mouth hanging open in stunned silence before he regains his voice.

“And if you’d been wrong!? What if you ended up getting hurt that time and-”

“What? Did you think the first time was a fluke or something, Spikey? I touched your dumbass feathers and they didn’t hurt me, so it’s safe to assume we were freaking out over nothing.” Wolfwood asserts, crossing his arms and looking to the side. He’s not budging on this one. Vash isn’t dangerous. Vash can’t be dangerous, and he needs to convince the angel himself of this fact. Whatever it takes, he’ll keep on making stupid, impulsive decisions just like he always has if it manages to get it through Vash’s thick skull that a couple harmless feathers isn’t going to kill him.

Vash squeezes him harder on impulse, Wolfwood letting out a small grunt as the air is forced out of him before his companion’s grip loosens once again.

“...That was a stupid thing to do.” Vash says softly, the feathers that had fluffed up in response to the shock flattening back down across his entire body. “Never do anything like it ever again.”

“Whatever you say, Spikey.” Wolfwood relents. “Hey, since I’m no longer on your shoulder, can I finish my damn smoke?”

“Are you listening to anything I’m saying!?”

*****

Eventually, Vash does let Wolfwood back into his collar and the two of them continue on their journey. Since they’re avoiding the populated areas, it’s harder to tell where in the desert they are in relation to their destination. Vash vaguely recognizes where they are from the last time he was on this side of the planet about fifty years ago, and he’s able to tell when the scenery of the desert changes around them. The dry dirt below them has been traded out for sand, and the cliffs and mesas around them disappear completely. This is the kind of area that is uninhabitable thanks to the lack of good foundations to build on, and the wanderers both know that there won’t be any people passing through here even by accident. Even the sand streamers don’t come out this far into the desert, as there are no towns around with a population big enough to be worth visiting. They’ll be safe out here for now in the middle of nowhere, the only danger being the possibility of sandstorms in an area this flat and open. Even then, both of them would much rather risk the storms than any accidental passerbys. The wind, after all, can’t spread rumors.

About half an hour after they reach the dunes, the sky turns a fiery orange and the suns start to disappear below the horizon. Vash stops in place, looking out in the distance to confirm that they really are completely alone out here. On his shoulder, Wolfwood stands up to look over the brim of his collar out at the sunsets, the stillness of the world around him haunting in an eerie way. For a few moments, neither of them say anything, before Vash breaks the silence with a very reasonable concern.

“There’s no shelter around here. We don’t have any kindling to light a fire and it’s going to get cold really quickly.”

“I know.” Wolfwood responds, sounding unconcerned or at least doing a good job of faking it. “We’ll figure something out. Besides, it’s not like the cold is going to do much to hurt you anyway.”

“Yeah, it won’t hurt me, but what about you?” Vash’s head-wings flatten close against his body.

“I said we’ll figure something out.” Wolfwood restates, a slight edge to his tone. Vash really doesn’t want to end the conversation there, but decides not to push it.

“...Let’s just make camp.”

It’s a really shitty camp, all things considered. The two of them expected to have been in a town by the end of today, so they weren’t exactly prepared to find themself out in the middle of one of the most remote deserts on the planet with nothing but each other and the sand for company for miles in every direction. Vash ends up setting Wolfwood down on the top of one of the dunes while he sits at the bottom, pressing all his wings close against his body in an attempt to look smaller. It doesn’t work.

Now that he’s finally allowed to smoke again without Vash chewing him out for it, Wolfwood lights up another cigarette and stares off into the setting sun. He’s not even sure if the damn things even help reduce his anxiety anymore. He’s mostly lighting this one up because it feels like he’s going to drop dead if he goes another five minutes without filling his lungs with ash again. He feels like there’s probably something to psychoanalyze him for there, but he sure as hell isn’t going to be the one to self-reflect on his own addiction at this moment.

By the time the last of the ashes drop down to join the sand below, the last sliver of daylight has disappeared under the dunes. The desert around them is cast in a deep blue, a chill settling over the area that Wolfwood knows will only get worse as the night goes on. Well, he did say that they’d ‘figure something out’. Now seems about the time to discuss how to avoid freezing to death in a barren wasteland that they knowingly and intentionally walked into.

“So, got any thoughts on-” Wolfwood starts to say as he tilts his head up to look at Vash and goes silent, eyes wide. His companion immediately takes notice and fluffs up in fear, head-wings covering all but one of his eyes to hide his face from his companion.

“What? What’s going on?” He asks, nervous as he moves a few feet further away from Wolfwood, who blinks and shakes his head.

“Nothing, it’s just…you’re glowing.”

“Huh!?”

Vash looks down at his hands which, sure enough, are emitting the faintest of lights from the edges of his feathers. It’s not very bright, certainly not enough to light up the entire desert around them, but it serves as a gentle beacon in the barren wasteland and keeps the night from being too dark. The moons and stars in the sky above make it so that the traveling duo are always able to make out their surroundings past sunset, but this acts as a good substitute for their missing campfire even if it doesn’t provide the same warmth.

Wolfwood can’t help but chuckle softly at the stunned look on Vash’s face, the angel reaching back and grabbing his wings to confirm that all his feathers are emitting the same inexplicable light. To his endless dismay, they are, and he’s not happy to discover this.

“Nooo…Can’t I get a break for like…an hour? At most?” He’s visibly distressed, pressing his wings as close against his back as they’ll go so he won’t have to see them. Wolfwood opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, then closes it once again. Vash notices this and looks back at the man, nervous.

“What is it?”

“I didn’t say anything.” Wolfwood says, unable to use his shades to hide his eyes for this conversation since it’s night and he doesn’t have a good enough excuse to put them on. “I was just thinking about how strange it is that the Humanoid Typhoon has been scared to death by some feathers and a nightlight in the past three hours. Not exactly the typical weakness you’d expect for a guy like you.”

All six of Vash’s eyes look to the side, his wings drooping low enough to touch the sands around them.

“...I had a good reason for it, Wolfwood. Hell, you have a good reason to be afraid of these things, but you aren’t somehow.”

“I’ve been through enough shit in my life that I’m not going to be scared of an oversized bird, Spikey. I’ve seen worse things in my life than whatever the hell happened to you.” He lies.

Something about that makes Vash snap.

“I almost killed you, Nick!” He exclaims, fingers digging into the course sand around him as the light flares up to a bright gold for the briefest of seconds.

Neither of them miss the way that Wolfwood flinches, squeezing his eyes shut and raising a hand as if to shield himself from some divine judgment. Immediately Vash’s face falls, his head-wings covering his mouth as all six teal eyes stare down at the mortal in shocked silence. It only takes a few more seconds for the light to fade back to normal once again, and the two of them are left sitting in silence, the everything they’re unwilling to say hanging over them like a swinging sword. Neither of them speak anything. Neither of them really want to speak. They’re both encased by the walls they’ve built around themselves, so desperate to construct a shelter to protect them that they didn’t realize they’d sealed the structure too tight for any air to get in. Now they’re suffocating in the tower they’d built to keep themself safe, but they’d still rather stay there and die than break a hole in the wall to let some air in.

It’s a genuine miracle that Vash forces himself to speak, voice soft as his metal fingers tap anxiously at the ground next to him.

“...Nick, I-”

“Shut up.” Wolfwood cuts him off, heart still pounding with fear from the glimpse of the light earlier. He’s unable to meet Vash’s eyes, Hands fidgeting with the strap of the Punisher to distract himself from the present. The angel flinches, but ultimately relents.

“...Okay.”

“It’s not fucking fair. It’s ridiculous that you’re the one who constantly feels guilty, who’s constantly afraid of yourself when you’ve never once hurt anyone or anything out of anger.” Wolfwood continues talking, gripping the strap of the Punisher so hard that it looks at risk of snapping off.

“Why the hell are you the one who has to go through this. I mean, Lord knows you’re too much of a dumbass to even hurt a fly, so why is it you that has to bear all of this? Why the hell are you…”

Why does he hold so much guilt inside of him when he’s the one who’s never done anything wrong?

Vash looks down at him with an expression that wavers between remorse and pity. Of course the man would find a way to feel guilty for Wolfwood pointing out that he feels too much guilt. He tries to say something three separate times, each time failing before the words even leave his mouth. Wolfwood grows tired of the silence and breaks it for him.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re afraid of me. You shouldn’t be.”

“I’m not.” Vash says, voice soft. He’s not lying. He was never afraid of Wolfwood, just of what he represents. Someone so strong, so powerful, and so inexorably and unmistakably human. Someone that could be torn to shreds by an unforgiving planet given the right circumstances and some bad luck. Someone he’s terrified he’ll never really be able to understand.

“Then stop fucking looking at me like you’re afraid you’ll hurt me! You’re not going to do that, Vash. You wouldn’t be able to if you tried.”

“You don’t know that!” Vash protests, voice raising above a mumble for the first time in several minutes. Wolfwood grits his teeth in frustration.

“Are us humans really that fucking small to you?”

Immediately he regrets his words when he sees the hurt in Vash’s eyes, the angel literally looking down at him yet only able to see himself as a cosmic mistake compared to the mortal. Wolfwood, a foolish mortal, unable or unwilling to understand his own place in the universe.

“...I’m sorry.” Vash says, barely above a whisper. Wolfwood can’t stop thinking about how much he should be the one saying that, for so many things. He can’t, of course, as the words just refuse to form in his throat.

“...Can’t tell how many times I’ve heard that in churches from people who deserved it far less than you do.”

Wolfwood’s aware of how hypocritical it is for him to be saying this when he’s been criticizing Vash for months at this point about his companion’s ridiculous devotion to pacifism. He just hopes that the man himself doesn’t point out this discrepancy.

“I don’t think your confessional would fit over my head like this.” Vash tries to joke, returning to that false smile like it’s the only thing he knows how to do.

“What the hell would you even have to apologize for? ‘I’m sorry my enemies are shitheads who violate my autonomy for stupid, petty reasons’? I know the Big Man is supposed to forgive everyone, but still, that one’s a bit of a freebie.”

Vash lets out a soft, humorless laugh, sitting with his knees against his chest as he looks off to the side.

“...I guess I do have a priest with me, don’t I?” All of his feathers are pressed flat against his body like he’s trying to keep himself hidden, not that it does any good for the giant glowing beacon in the middle of a wasteland.

“I told you, you have nothing to confess to. You haven’t done anything that-”

“I’m not human.”

Wolfwood blinks a few times, looking up at Vash and running a hand through his hair as he falls back onto the soft sand.

“...I know, Spikey. I’ve known for a while.”

He’s known since long before Vash sprouted wings and grew eighty feet tall.

“Yeah, I just wanted to get that off my chest. Feels weird to say out loud.” Vash says. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, despite how hard he’s trying.

“I was here when we first landed on this planet. Sometimes it feels like I’m the reason we’re all stuck here to begin with. The person who made us crash here, he was…I knew him. Sometimes I think about how different things would have been if I had noticed how wrong things were sooner. Maybe I could have helped him. Maybe no-one would be on this planet, suffering like this. Maybe no-one would have had to…”

His voice cracks, and he looks to the side. One of his head-wings lifts up to hide his eyes from Wolfwood, but he doesn’t stop talking.

“July was my fault. Augusta was my fault. The fact that we’re being hunted out here to begin with is my fault. I…I didn’t pull any trigger directly, but I still failed. When it came down to it and I was the only one capable of making a difference, I failed. Does that…doesn’t that make me responsible? If I hadn’t been so damn stupid all the time, if I had been a little quicker, maybe some people would be alive who aren’t anymore. Everyone who knows me thinks that I don’t kill, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a body count. It’s not about who I do and don’t shoot, it’s about everyone I can’t save.”

He’s rambling now, voice breaking on every other syllable. Wolfwood doesn’t stop him, just staring up into the stars above and wondering if God can hear the angel right now. Wolfwood certainly isn’t the one with the power to alleviate all of Vash’s suffering, much as he wishes every hour of every day that he could.

“You tell me that I’m a coward for not wanting to kill anyone. You’re not the first. You’re not even the hundredth person I’ve heard that lecture from. Everyone thinks that once they get to know me, if they even survive that long. I’ve heard so many times about how violence has to be the answer sometimes, and how killing people now lets more people live in the future. Maybe…Maybe sometimes they’re right about the casualties being lower if someone takes another’s life. Maybe we do live in a universe that requires some people to die for others to live, but I can’t make that choice.”

At this point, Vash just hopes that the sound of his voice muffles the sound of his crying.

“...Everyone always gives me ultimatums, forces me into situations where they want me to pull the trigger and watch someone fall. They so badly want me to snap and hurt someone, to admit that I’ve been a naive child this entire time. They want me to grow up and face the real world. I’m so fucking tired of it, Nick. I’m tired of the questions and the games and the people forcing a weapon into my hands. I don’t want any more battles or ultimatums or any of this. I just don’t want to kill.”

His voice breaks completely, the last few syllables having to be forced out as Vash’s giant body trembles. It’s another full minute of the two of them sitting alone in the desert, Wolfwood listening to the angel cry like nobody's watching them, before Vash manages to put words together again.

“...I just don’t want to kill. I don’t understand. I don’t understand why people hate those words so much. I don’t understand why people think I’ll be free if I just start treating human beings like targets to be mowed down. Would more people survive in the long run if I killed more bad people? I don’t know. I don’t know, Nick, but I also don’t know why everyone else thinks they have the answer to that question and why they want to force me to make that choice.”

“...Is it so horrible to believe that people are good, sometimes?”

Wolfwood is still laying on the ground staring into the endless void of space, his head too jumbled to give the angel a proper response. What the hell is he even supposed to say to all that? Is he just supposed to solve all of human morality on the spot and give Vash a definitive, foolproof answer on who deserves to live and die?

…Oh. This feeling right here is probably what Vash has been living with this whole time, isn’t it?

Vash wipes his eyes on his sleeves before he continues, trying to pretend like he hasn’t been crying for the past three minutes. This doesn’t fool anyone.

“...So yeah, I’m afraid of hurting you. I’m afraid of being too stupid and useless to keep you safe. I’m afraid that the next name on the list of people I’ve failed to protect will be yours. I’m afraid that they’re going to make me do it, make me kill you. Nick, I don’t even understand what I am, really. I don’t…I don’t like this. I hate feeling like a monster in my own skin. I want to go back to how I used to be and pretend that everything is normal for just a few more days, before the next fight comes and I’m forced into a body I don’t understand like I always am.”

“I need you to be safe. After everyone I’ve let down, after all the lives I’ve ruined, I just need you to be okay. If I can’t do that, if…if your name ends up on that list and it’s my fault, then…”

He’s barely able to choke out the next few words.

“...I-I don’t know what I would even do, Nick.”

Wolfwood bites down on his tongue in place of a cigarette, unwilling or unable to meet the angel’s eyes and see the tears he knows are there. It’s not like he hasn’t seen Vash cry before. The man does it literally all the time, to the point where it’s a miracle he doesn’t die of dehydration out in the desert like this. This time is different, though. This time Vash is trying to hide his tears from Wolfwood, afraid of letting the human see him in a state like this, in a state of genuine weakness. Or at least what Vash perceives as weakness.

He takes in a breath of cold night air, digging his hand into the sand to disguise the way it’s shaking. For the first time since waking up in Vash’s hand, genuine fear makes its way into Wolfwood’s voice.

“...Vash, I-”

The next three seconds are a blur. For a brief second, Wolfwood sees Vash start to move, the feathers at the edge of his form blending with the space around him. Then the priest is suddenly snatched off the ground by Vash and pressed against his chest, the man’s hands at his back giving him shelter from the desert’s chill. It’s the closest thing he can approximate to a hug when they’re like this, and a gentle light envelopes them as Vash’s wings spread and form a cocoon to keep them safe from the wasteland outside.

Wolfwood’s instinctual reaction is to fight back, to pull away from such an overwhelming and obvious sign of affection. Since when has he deserved this kind of unconditional devotion from anyone, much less someone like Vash? For a split second, he attempts to push away before his body loses strength and he relents. He doesn’t want to admit to the jolt of fear that runs through him when feathers block out the sky, but the anxiety is quickly overtaken by another, stronger emotion as Vash begins to sob.

It’s silent, the kind of crying that’s seen instead of heard as Vash’s body trembles violently and he curls up around the tiny human. He’s trying so hard not to shed any tears, but the emotions he’s bottled up inside find other ways to escape through tremors and shivers that wrack his immortal form. Wolfwood still isn’t able to say anything. What can he even say? ‘I’m sorry’? He’s never been able to summon those words even when he tries.

So he remains silent as Vash cradles him against his chest, head full of thoughts he’s not prepared to process and the chill of the desert a distant memory compared to the angel’s glow. Eventually, the tears dry up, and Vash stops trembling and instead just lays down limply in the soft desert sands, exhausted. Wolfwood considers asking to be set back down for a moment, before deciding not to say anything. He doesn’t want the first thing he says to Vash after this to be a request to leave his side.

Plus, it’s much warmer here with Vash’s hands at his back than it was out in the open in the desert.

Chapter Text

Wolfwood wishes he could say this is the first time he’s had this dream. He wishes he could say that it’s only the tenth. He’d hoped that he’d get used to it at some point, or at least be able to recognize that he’s having a nightmare and force himself back into consciousness before it starts to get bad. Somehow, no matter how many times he repeats this horror, no matter how many times he suffers this vision, it never occurs to him to try waking up.

He thinks that he’s dying. Maybe he’s already dead. The technicalities of it all don’t really matter. What does matter is that Wolfwood is injured, thick blood spilling into the ground from giant holes in his chest. Everything around him is dark, unnaturally so. This isn’t the kind of darkness of a starless sky or an unlit room. No, this is the kind of void that sucks in all light around it until everything succumbs to shadow. The world surrounding Wolfwood is gone. It’s just him, the wounds in his chest, and the small platform of dirt he’s bleeding out into. Beyond that, there’s nothing, and there’s never going to be anything ever again.

He tries to choke out a scream but his own blood bubbles up in his throat, drowning any sound he could make before it even leaves his lips. He tilts his head back and looks up at where the sky should be, dull eyes searching for some sign up above. There’s supposed to be a light, isn’t there? That’s what they always told him. It would only hurt for a moment before he sees the light and will feel warm again. Everything will become bright again, and then it will all be over. He’ll be free, and he’ll actually be happy again once he’s in God’s grace.

Cracked lips open to let out weakened gasps as he waits for the choir of salvation. It never comes.

Wolfwood feels a cold fear grip his heart, struggling to keep his eyes open so that he can see that holy light at last. This isn’t right. Why is everything just dark? They said he would be safe, that he would finally be able to rest in the arms of the Almighty when it’s over. Why is no one coming for him? Why is he being left behind?

He lets out one last, rattled breath as the corners of his vision fades into darkness. He thinks he feels a few tears slip from the corners of his eyes. It’s impossible to be sure, though, since everything is just so cold.

His empty soul tries to fire commands to his body, a shell within a shell that’s screaming and begging to be let out. Wolfwood doesn’t want to go like this. He doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t want to die!

…It’s so cold.

Where is he?

Wolfwood snaps back to reality as his whole body spasms in an attempt to wake him up. His fists are clenched so hard that his nails have dug crescent-shaped gouges into his palm and his heart is pounding out of his chest, each beat making his entire body shudder. He’s covered in sweat, curled up into some kind of half-fetal position, and his mind is racing so fast that it's making him dizzy. It takes Wolfwood a full fifteen seconds to realize that he’s awake again, his whole body lurching in place just to prove to him that he can actually move and isn’t still stuck in the nightmare.

Oh, right. It was just a dream. Just like it has been the past hundred times. Wolfwood lays there, paralyzed in lingering fear and adrenaline as he struggles to put all his senses back in order. He’s not in the void anymore. He’s right here, in the present, and he isn’t dead. He’s not even injured. Everything is okay, everything is okay, dammit! He needs to be able to understand this.

Fuck, he doesn’t even have to lift a hand to his face to tell that he’s been crying. Thank the Lord that Vash never saw him like this. Wolfwood doesn’t think he could ever explain a display of weakness like this to his friend.

Oh yeah, Vash.

It takes Wolfwood until now to even realize where he is in the present. Vash had ended up passing out from exhaustion, both emotional and physical, with the tiny human still cupped in his hands and pressed up against his chest. Well, at least this solves the issue of shelter at night, as Wolfwood can’t feel any semblance of the desert chill that should be freezing him alive right now. Everything just feels…warm. Unnaturally warm, as even at this size Vash’s body heat should not be this all-encompassing. It’s like being wrapped up in soft blankets just being near the angel like this, the gentle glow of his feathers adding an extra layer of protection in the wake of the worst recurring nightmare Wolfwood’s ever had. Once he manages to calm himself down and his pulse returns to a normal rate, he’s able to take in his surroundings fully from his place curled up against Vash’s chest.

His companion’s hands are at his back, wrapped around him gently and applying soft pressure as he’s held in place. Every few seconds he’s lifted up and down by Vash’s breathing, the even rate telling him that the angel is currently asleep and blissfully unaware of what Wolfwood just experienced. The priest’s hands are gripping Vash’s coat tightly, and Nicholas finds himself instinctually pressing closer against the fabric to try and escape the darkness of the desert outside. As long as things are like this, he can pretend that nothing is wrong. He can just lay here with Vash’s hands literally shielding him from the wasteland around them and imagine that he’s okay.

He grits his teeth as he blinks away the beginnings of tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. Dammit, he’s not a kid anymore! He shouldn’t be relying on fantasies to escape the difficult parts of life. He needs to face reality head-on and learn to survive, just like he always has. This is what’s carried him so far, and he’ll be damned if it doesn’t carry him to his grave. If he was the kind of person who ignored hard truths in favor of idealism, he’d be just like Va-

…Oh, right.

He instinctively reaches for a cigarette before pulling his hand back with all the strength he has. It’s the middle of the damn night, he can’t be folding to his urges this quickly can he? Wolfwood is stronger than that.

To try and distract himself, he lets his mind wander. This proves to be an even worse idea, though, as the topics his brain decides to focus on at the moment aren’t exactly the most comforting. Try as he might, he can’t stop thinking about what Vash had said earlier before the two of them had fallen asleep. It’s rare for Wolfwood to even get a sentence out of the man that showcases how he truly feels, and that had been several minutes worth of information. It’s like the metaphorical cup had finally spilled over and all of it came crashing down directly on Wolfwood like a…

Well, he’s sure that the humans back on Earth have a word for water-based natural disasters. ‘Lucky’ for them, it never rains on Gunsmoke.

Vash’s words were too big to tackle as an entire entity, so Wolfwood decides it's best to break them down into separate segments. Maybe then he’ll be able to make a dent in deciphering the situation he’s found himself in and figuring out what the hell he’s going to do in the near future.

Vash hates himself. This one isn’t exactly new information, and maybe Wolfwood is being too harsh by labeling it as ‘hate’. From the day he met the man on that bus in the middle of the desert, it had been obvious that Vash was shouldering a tremendous burden. Wolfwood had told him as such, sugarcoated by just saying that ‘his smile is hollow’, but it had always been way worse than that. One of the advantages of Nicholas’s trade is that he meets a wide variety of people and hears them all confess their sins. He’s familiar with guilt, to the point that it’s almost an old friend to him. Not a kind one who lends him a shoulder through the hard times, but one a lot more parasitic. Guilt is the kind of friend who latched onto him early in life and may have even been a true companion at one point, but over time grew into someone bitter and angry and whose presence now frightens him. Still, he can’t just cut it off, as he can’t imagine what his life would be like without his old friend.

Guilt doesn’t manifest the same in everyone, however. As a priest, he’s heard some of the most vile recollections imaginable come out of people’s mouths as confessions, some said with genuine remorse and some with the same nonchalance one would have towards their daily chores. Everything from abuse to adultery to the most minor of regrets, all laid bare for the man in the box to listen to and forgive. Or at least, Wolfwood was supposed to forgive them. In actuality, that wasn’t really his job, and he never claimed that it was either. Then he would pray for them, always the same, no matter the crime being confessed to. ‘The Lord forgives all. Follow His words and His truth and you shall be absolved.’ Those were the words he followed, that he may even believe in, but they’re ultimately just words and can’t dampen what he feels deep in his soul. Sometimes, when a particularly reprehensible person steps into the box, he’ll be angry. He’ll hate them, even though he knows he’s not supposed to. God may be all-loving, but Wolfwood is not God. He’s just a man in a box who sometimes is driven to a boiling level of fury by the words he hears. He’ll think about how, if he’d encountered this person on the street instead of in church, he may have shot them dead. He understands that such a thought is, in itself, a sin, but he’s never been able to stop himself from thinking it. And so he sat behind the walls and prayed for the person confessing, but never for himself. Not once had he ever asked for the Lord’s forgiveness, and not once did he ever expect to receive it.

All of this to say that Wolfwood has seen a lot of people confess to a lot of things, but never once has he seen someone as quick to blame himself for things outside of his control as Vash. It seems like if someone gets hurt within a five-mile radius of the Typhoon, he’ll find a way to feel guilty for not being able to prevent it. Yes, a lot of it can be seen as his fault for being unable or unwilling to take a life when the situation calls for it. Yes, the man can be self-sacrificing to a frankly idiotic degree and often that gets him into more trouble than it’s worth. However, this does not mean that every damn death that has occured on this planet since humanity landed here is Vash’s fault, as much as he seems to think that’s the case. Wolfwood doesn’t know what happened over a century ago to make them crash here, but it can’t have all been because of Vash. Whatever occurred back then had to have been mostly out of his hands, yet he seems to have internalized it to the point where he, at least subconsciously, considers himself responsible for the hell they’ve found themselves in.

Even if their landing here was entirely his fault and Wolfwood is wrong, that doesn’t make Vash at all responsible for what Legato tried to do to them yesterday. Knives’s servant violently invaded his mind, twisted him into a body he hates against his will, tried to force him to murder his best friend, and somehow Vash’s has construed this into meaning that he’s dangerous and untrustworthy. Wolfwood isn’t blind, and he’s seen the way that his companion flinches at the sight of him, so tiny and fragile compared to the angel. Vash acts like he believes that he might lose himself at any moment and actually end up killing Wolfwood this time. Though he can’t be sure what, Nicholas is certain that the man saw something horrible when he transformed, and now he’s afraid of himself worse than he ever was before. Wolfwood can’t say he doesn’t emphasize, as he knows better than most people what it’s like to feel like a monster in your own skin. Still, this headspace Vash has gotten himself into where he considers himself responsible for what Legato made him do is ridiculous. He quite literally had no control over what happened, and it’s a genuine miracle that he was able to pull himself out of Legato’s grip when nobody else has ever managed that before. It’s honestly because of Vash that they’re both still alive right now, but Vash still considers himself culpable for what happened to begin with. Somehow, because Vash couldn’t stop it from happening to begin with, because he had had ‘failed’ in his mind, this is somehow something that’s worth feeling guilty over.

Now here’s the part that Wolfwood’s been dreading since he started going down this path of reflection: the part where he has to admit that he was wrong about something. Or, at least, he had an overly narrow view of a complicated situation. After all, he’d been quick to complain about Vash’s pacifism from day one, and to be honest, the man’s staunch insistence on finding a non-lethal solution to every conflict is still headache-inducing and makes every fight much more difficult and dangerous than it needs to be.

“I’m tired of the questions and the games and the people forcing a weapon into my hands. I don’t want any more battles or ultimatums or any of this. I just don’t want to kill.”

The pain in Vash’s voice when he said this had been unlike anything Wolfwood had ever heard from the angel before. It was over a century of bottled-up feelings coming out all at once, just a torrent of raw, unfiltered exhaustion. Vash has been treated as less than a person for his entire life, by strangers, enemies, and even his own brother. None of them view him as anything more than an idealistic fool purposefully holding himself back for childish reasons. In the minds of others, even in the mind of Wolfwood at some points, Vash wasn’t seen as someone capable of making his own choices.

“You can’t just force your way of life upon others.”

That statement doesn’t exist in a vacuum. He still stands by it, but the unfortunate truth is that this is exactly what Knives is doing. This is exactly what the Gung-ho Guns are doing. By proxy of Wolfwood working for them, this is what he’s doing. They’re all stripping away Vash’s freedom to force him to conform to the way that they think the world should work. Vash is challenging their perspective just by existing as the way he is, a pacifist, and it offended them all so much that they decided to drag him through a torture ring just to prove their point. All the while, Vash had barely said a word in his own defense as they beat him into the ground over and over again.

…In retrospect, joining a group of people whose stated goal is just to emotionally abuse an angel until he commits murder was not the smartest play on Wolfwood’s end. It’s not like he didn’t have his reasons. Even now, if he was offered an equally stupid assignment for the same reward he’d probably take it. It was never about him, after all. It was about the kids back home. However, laying here right now in the middle of a lifeless wasteland as a fugitive from his own employers, it’s hard not to finally see how fucking stupid it all is. He sold his soul, his body, his faith, everything that he had to the most vile people on the planet, only for them to toss him aside like a broken tool once he stopped being useful. He really was a commodity to the very end. He’d spent months lying to the only person he considers a friend, dragging him through layer after layer of hell with the intention of dropping him at the feet of his murderous brother when the time comes, and Vash still doesn’t even know. He still trusts Wolfwood with his life, even after everything he’s been through. He would have kept walking towards his destruction with the man with a smile on his face had this not happened, and the worst thing is that, had Legato not betrayed him, Wolfwood would have kept leading him.

And now they’re here. Wolfwood is completely alone, his only company being the man he was planning on betraying. He can’t return home because he technically ‘failed’ in his mission and will be hunted down. He can’t leave Vash because then the angel will be left to fight Knives alone. He’s essentially alone now, in way over his head but incapable of backing out even if he wanted to.

He needs a cigarette he needs one now God he needs a cigarette right fucking

now-!

He squeezes his eyes shut and grinds his teeth, burying his face into Vash’s coat. He feels tears start to prick at the corners of his eyes, but he refuses to let them fall. He will not break that easily, dammit. He feels like he’s going to go insane. His head is pounding, his throat is burning, and he’s gripping the red fabric so tightly that his knuckles have gone white. He feels like his head is going to explode if-!

…There’s a sound cutting through the noise, gentle and rhythmic that manages to overpower the racket in Wolfwood’s head. Somehow he hadn’t noticed it until he was pressed up against Vash’s chest, surrendering the sight of the desert in favor of a field of red. The priest’s mind is so frazzled that it takes him a few seconds to recognize the noise, until it slowly dawns on him that he’s listening to Vash’s heartbeat.

It’s slow and harmonic, a natural melody that drowns out the discord in Wolfwood’s own head and replaces it with something much more grounding. Slowly, as the angel’s heartbeat settles into his thoughts and chases the mindless noise away, he finds himself tapping his finger against Vash’s coat in a matching rhythm.

It’s so…human. The pace, the noise, the non stop thumping is exactly what Wolfwood would hear if he pressed his ear up against anyone else’s chest, not that he’s even had the opportunity to do something like this before. Somehow, just the simple experience of being close enough with someone to listen to their pulse is one that’s escaped him before now. It’s…strange. Wolfwood is so used to death that he doesn’t know how to process undeniable proof that someone he cares about is still alive, still safe. A part of him expects it to stop at any moment, violently ripping away one of the only things he has left in this world and leaving him just as broken and lonely as before. This can’t really be happening, can it? After all the hell they’ve been through, they can’t really walk out of it with their hearts still beating like before, like any normal human’s would, can they?

Wolfwood feels a shudder run through his body, but this time it’s not from pain. There’s something else in his soul that takes over for a brief moment, and his body reacts like it’s trying to physically reject the emotion.

It’s funny. He had thought that ‘hope’ had been beaten out of him a long time ago.

He’s sure it's just his imagination, but for a moment he feels like Vash’s heartbeat and his own sync up perfectly, lighting up their corner of the desert with physical proof that, despite their enemies’ best efforts, they’re still alive. It feels wrong to admit that, like just saying it will make the illusion shatter and bring reality crashing in on them. Yet the seconds continue to pass and both their hearts are still beating the same as before. Same as always.

Wolfwood is temporarily shaken out of these thoughts by Vash shifting in his sleep, his entire body being moved effortlessly at the whims of the sleeping angel. He grips onto his companion’s coat, afraid that he might be dropped to the desert floor by accident as Vash rolls over onto his side, but the concern turns out to be entirely unnecessary. The entire time, Vash keeps a gentle hold on the human, supporting his body carefully and resting his hand over the tiny priest like a blanket once he’s finished moving. Unconsciously, it’s like he shifted to hold his friend closer, and Wolfwood instinctively tries to force down how that makes him feel. He’s not used to positive emotions lasting, so he tends to cut them out before they become an issue and he gets his hopes crushed again.

Then Vash starts to stroke Wolfwood’s back with a single finger in his sleep, and the priest flinches. If the angel had been awake, he might have yelled at him to cut it out and leave him alone, not because he actually wants Vash to stop, but because he feels like he has to. Because his companion is asleep, though, and it’s the middle of the night, Wolfwood relents. Him and Vash aren’t averse to physical contact, as they place their hands on each others’ shoulders all the time, but Wolfwood isn’t used to touch that’s intended to comfort him instead of hurt him. It’s…strange. Wolfwood remains tense for a few more seconds, grounded by the feeling of the giant finger brushing at his back, before his body relaxes and he lets out a held breath.

There’s silence for a few more minutes, the only sounds around being the wind through the dunes and the perpetual beating of Vash’s heart. Wolfwood leans to the side to look at the angel’s face, more peaceful in sleep than it’s ever been when he’s awake. Nicholas hopes he’s dreaming of something nice, before he sets his expectations and just hopes that Vash is dreaming of nothing at all.

The heartbeat shakes his body slightly with every thump. Silently, Wolfwood thinks about how he’d do anything to keep this sound from stopping.

He lays back down, settling into the soft fabric and the warmth of the angel’s radiance. This time, when he lets his mind wander, it doesn’t come back with nearly as many thoughts screaming for attention as before. Now he only thinks about the future and what he plans to do now that he’s been abandoned by everyone except the man he’s supposed to betray. Earlier, a solution had felt impossible, like any path he chose would lead to his inevitable end and the failure to protect anything that matters. Now the answer feels like the easiest decision in the world.

He’s going to stay with Vash. He’s going to bring him to Knives, not as a hostage, but as an ally, and he’s going to do his best to protect the angel no matter what. God may not forgive him for the things he’s done, and Wolfwood certainly can’t forgive himself, but it’s not too late to try and fix the worst fuck-up of his life. Maybe this epiphany will all be for nothing, maybe he will end up losing everyone and everything he cares about by the time the dust settles, but he’ll be damned if he’s going to let that happen without putting up a fight.

And Wolfwood is used to fighting like hell.

Chapter Text

There’s a cloud that envelopes a person when they cross from the unconscious world to the waking one. It’s a blissful fog that dulls their senses, lingering for only a few moments before vanishing again until next morning. Often, Vash finds himself wishing he could just spend forever in that liminal haze. In the few seconds before his mind fully wakes up, it is peaceful. For just a few seconds, everything is okay. Then Vash opens his eyes and remembers who he is.

The sting of being dragged back into the world has lessened over the past century, so much so that he barely feels it anymore. Now it just manifests as a spike of emotion that Vash beats down with practiced precision as simple as pulling the trigger and watching a target fall. Certainly, the act that Vash performs on his own psyche each morning is much more violent than anything he’d do to a real person. This, after all, bears no real consequences in his mind.

This time he wakes up with his cheek pressed against the ground, sand plastered all over his face and coating his white feathers a dirty brown. This fact briefly comes as a surprise to him, a flash of panic flaring up inside of him before yesterday catches up to him and the fear is replaced by a sinking feeling in his chest.

Right…that had happened, hadn’t it? Legato had taken over and left him as some kind of abomination, incapable of returning to the mask of humanity he clung to like it was air he needed to breathe. The last safety net against despair, now gone, swept away as easily as a grain of sand on the desert wind.

Vash feels his feathers brushing against the dunes below him as he sits up, spreading his wings to shake off some of the sand that had gotten swept up by them over the course of the night. For a brief moment, he scours the desert around him, searching for Wolfwood who he assumes fell asleep nearby. A flash of panic flows through him when he’s unable to spot the human and his mind starts concocting all kinds of horrible fates that Wolfwood could have met with while Vash was asleep and unable to protect him. That is, until he feels a small weight in his hand and it all comes flooding back.

…Oh. Oh no. He’d…said a lot of things last night, hadn’t he? A lot of these things had been very personal, stuff that he’d never admitted to anyone before. And then he’d…

Vash uncurls his fingers to reveal Wolfwood in his hand, still fast asleep somehow. The man must have been exhausted after yesterday, not that Vash blames him. Judging by the suns in the sky, they’d both woken up far later than they normally would have. Even now, there’s a part of Vash that really just wants to lay back down, forget everything, and go back to sleep. This is a part of him that he forces back very quickly, but it’s still notable that it’s there.

“Hh…Yeah, okay. Okay.”

He really has no idea why he’s even talking right now. Is he just hoping that Wolfwood hears him and wakes up? That would definitely be easier than having to awaken the sleeping human himself. Maybe it’s just a nervous habit. Scratch that, this is definitely an anxiety response, but Vash doesn’t know what else to do right now. Is he just supposed to wake up Wolfwood and explain to him that Vash fell asleep with the priest still cradled in his hands all night? Things are going to be awkward enough after the talk they had without Vash making it worse like that. Maybe he should try and carefully set him down on the sand? Yeah, that’ll work. Then when Wolfwood wakes up they can just pretend they fell asleep normally like they always have. Then the only thing that Vash will have to deal with is the aftermath of their conversation. If you can even call it a conversation as opposed to an especially verbose panic attack.

All that Vash needs to do is carefully lower his hand down to the ground and roll Wolfwood off of it. Then he can-

Too late. Every muscle in Vash’s body freezes up as Wolfwood stirs and starts to sit up, brushing a hand through his hair like he expects to find sand in it like all the other times they’ve fallen asleep in the desert. Vash can’t do anything but sit there, six eyes focused down on the tiny human in his hand as Wolfwood looks up and meets his gaze. For a moment, the angel expects his friend to be angry with him. Over what, he can’t quite be sure, but he knows that this was probably a step too far in terms of breaching boundaries. He should have put Wolfwood down before he fell asleep. If only he wasn’t such an idiot and didn’t exhaust himself crying like a little kid all day, maybe he wouldn’t have-

“Oh, hey Spikey.” Wolfwood says, yawning and sitting back in Vash’s palm, legs crossed as he leans against the angel’s fingers to stay upright.

Vash’s mouth opens and closes as he struggles to answer, convinced he must have misheard the priest somehow. Is he still asleep and this is some kind of bizarre dream? Should he be trying to wake himself up right now?

“W-Wolfwood? I’m uh…I’m so sorry about uh…this. I’ll be more careful next time I swear!” Maybe this is a blessing in disguise. If Vash keeps messing up like this, then it’ll be easier to convince Wolfwood to go off on his own and leave his friend to fight his own battles. That is, after all, the only way that Wolfwood could be safe as long as Vash is stuck like this.

Meanwhile, the human in question is just looking up at his companion with wide eyes, expression showing only slight confusion as opposed to anything else. His head is tilted a little to the side like a curious cat, and though Vash can’t see it at his size, the dark circles under his eyes have lessened just slightly.

“What the hell are you talking about? I slept fine, don’t worry about it.” Wolfwood says as if none of this is a big deal. He even trails off halfway through the sentence to look out over the desert, muttering under his breath.

“Ah shit, where’s the Punisher? It better not have gotten buried in the sand I swear to God…”

Vash’s reaction is almost indignant, feathers fluffing up all over his body until he resembles a startled bird more than he does a human. His head-wings flap up and down, creating a slight downdraft in the area that ruffles Wolfwood’s hair.

“What’s wrong with you!?” He exclaims, getting the priest’s attention and making him turn his focus back towards the distressed angel.

“Uh…a couple of things. I’m not sure what you’re specifically referring to here though, Spikey.” He’s still leaning back in the middle of Vash’s metal palm as casually as if it were a chair at a bar.

“This!” Vash gestures at the man with his other hand. If it were night time right now, they’d both notice his feathers starting to glow brighter. Luckily for them, the suns are high in the sky and drowning out Vash’s light with their intensity.

“How can you just sit there and act like none of this bothers you? You’re always bothered by something! You’re the one who’s always telling me I act too casual in dangerous situations! What’s up with…with this!” Vash’s voice carries through the desert, reverberated by the endless dunes. They’re lucky there’s no-one around to hear them right now, or else the angel’s distress would have definitely lured someone to their location.

Wolfwood narrows his eyes, lifting a hand up as if to retrieve his sunglasses before hesitating and setting it back down on Vash’s gloves. He’s silent for a few moments, a world of emotions passing behind his eyes for the briefest of seconds before he lifts his gaze up to meet Vash’s directly.

“...I think we need to talk.”

There are few phrases on the planet that strike the same kind of fear in one’s heart as ‘we need to talk’. Over thousands of years of human language and evolution, it is doubtful that anything will replace those words in terms of instant, raw dread. Vash pales when Wolfwood says that, trying to avert his eyes but finds it difficult when there are so many of them. Even if none of the eyes on his face meet Wolfwood’s gaze, he can still see the man through the ones on his wings. It’s a strange sensation that he’ll never get used to, being able to see in all directions. Most of the time he just tries to block out any information that isn’t directly in front of him to cut back on the sensory overload.

“...Okay.” Vash relents, reluctantly turning his head back to look at his tiny companion. It’s not like he really has any other choice. What is he supposed to do, try and run? Not exactly an option right now. It’s not like he can just refuse to talk either, as that will only serve to make Wolfwood angry, which is the last thing Vash wants to do right now.

“So uh…” He says, physically forcing himself to get back into his ‘nothing really bothers me’ state of mind. It’s one of the hardest things he’s ever done in his life. “What…did you want to talk about?”

The look in Wolfwood’s eyes is nothing less than pity, the priest letting out a sigh as he reaches for another cigarette. He uses the precious seconds he has while lighting it to think of what he wants to say, his cluttered head finally clearing up when the poison hits his lungs.

“...You’re not okay.”

The smile that Vash gives him is painful, the emptiness in his eyes when he grins now amplified thricefold for Wolfwood to see just how broken the angel is.

“What gave you that idea?” It’s a default answer, one that doesn’t have much thought put into it.

“Fuckin hell, Spikey, don’t do this to me.” Wolfwood mutters, a hand running through his hair in frustration as Vash flinches. He’s not used to this…this honesty. It makes him feel like there’s a snake slithering up his throat and out his mouth with every word he speaks. After so long spent constructing a mask of anger and apathy, Wolfwood’s finding out the hard way that he’s not quite sure what’s left underneath now that he’s actually trying to take it off.

“Sorry…” Vash says. As always, he really means it, and the pit of guilt in his chest grows deeper.

“No, that’s not what I-!” Dammit, this is the exact opposite of what Wolfwood wanted. He’s supposed to be reassuring Vash, but he always finds just the wrong things to say. The snake inside him coils and hisses, prepared to strike and inject its venom into whoever else dares to speak to the priest. He clenches his jaw and forces it back, taking in a breath of fresh air for once instead of ash.

“...Look, I was never good at the emotional support thing. When you’re in the box all that you really have to do is just pray, thankfully. It takes the responsibility off of your shoulders and throws it all at the big man. Maybe that’s part of the problem. I dunno.”

Vash watches him silently, eyes wide and head-wings folded against the sides of his face. Okay, so now he’s gotten the angel’s attention. Now what? It only now occurs to Wolfwood that he jumped into this without much of a plan. Fuck, better just start speaking and hope that whatever comes out doesn’t make things any worse than it already is.

“...I don’t know what happened back when you fell to this planet. I can’t imagine what the past hundred years have been like for you. Hell, I’ve seen your scars, I can make a few guesses on the kind of shit you’ve been through.”

Bullet wounds. Knife gouges. More metal than should ever be embedded in a living person. All of it is woven into Vash’s skin like a tapestry of agony that he keeps covered up by his coat and gloves, hoping that nobody will see it.

“I have been traveling with you for months now, and I know how you’ve been treated during that time. It’s…it’s horrible. I’ve watched you get driven out of towns for things you didn’t do, beaten, hunted down like an animal, and all of it with a smile on your face. I’ve seen you be tortured and still make an attempt to spare your aggressor. I’ve seen you put up with so much shit, and never once have you thought to fire back. It’s fucking insufferable, honestly. It’s bad enough when you go and put yourself in danger by refusing to kill your enemies, but now I’m along for the ride which means that I have to constantly risk my own ass just to keep you from being pumped full of lead. It’s so damn annoying, Vash! I mean Christ!”

Vash is just taking the beating, looking down at Wolfwood with all six eyes wide with some undefinable emotion. He’s heard this speech before, so it doesn’t hurt as much as it used to. Still, Wolfwood feels a spike of guilt in his heart when Vash looks at him like that, like one of the people who’ve tried to hurt him. He turns his head to the side and sighs, hands clenched into fists.

“...But that’s just how you do things, I guess. Whether it’s because of your actual ideals or some kind of trauma, I can’t say. The point is that you’re unlike anyone else on this damn planet. Somehow, even after us stupid humans have carved your body into a bloody mess, even after most of us have decided they hate you, you still refuse to become like us. You’re still just so goddamn nice all the time, in a way that nobody else is. On this planet, altruism is either beaten out of you by the time you hit twenty, or it gets you stabbed and robbed in an alley for being a naïve jackass. I don’t know if this was always the nature of humanity, or if something about being in a situation as desperate as this has turned us into wild beasts. Either way, we’re well past being a lost cause at this point. We’re not God, we’re not anything like Him. We can’t change the world around us and we can’t bring back what was lost. We’re just scared, trapped animals trying to survive on a planet that wants us dead. Even if it’s not today or tomorrow, eventually we’re going to run out of resources here and nobody will be able to save us. It’s a fool's errand to even try, since you’ll only be delaying the inevitable.”

Vash doesn’t say anything, having gone completely silent since Wolfwood started to speak. This is the longest that the angel has ever heard his companion talk for, and Wolfwood himself can’t remember the last time he was this open about…anything. It doesn’t feel right, in a way, like he’s slicing his tongue on every syllable that leaves his mouth. Even so, he doesn’t stop, not when he’s already in too deep.

“...Except I was taught to believe that God’s mercy is infinite. At least, that’s what

the book says. I think I believe it too, even after all the hell I’ve seen on this planet. Us humans are limited, just people driven by our instincts in the end. Sometimes those instincts drive us to become the Devil himself. God must be so disappointed in us from where He is. His children have started tearing each other apart for the pettiest reasons, and I can only imagine what He thinks of us right now. For all of us, mercy isn’t an option anymore. We’ve fallen too far deep into this spiral and there’s no way in hell we’re clawing our way out of this one. At least, not before this damn planet turns every last one of us to dust. So here we are, God’s special children, a fucking mess in the middle of the desert without a clue.”

Wolfwood looks to the side, his voice growing softer.

“And then there’s you. You come here with us, go through more hell than any other individual on this planet, and you’re still selfless. Granted, it’s only because you’re fucking immortal that you’re able to get away with the shit that you do, but still. You’ve seen the worst we have to offer, and you still love us. Fuck, Vash, why the hell do you still love us? We haven’t been anything but cruel to you, and this is how you respond? It’s fucking stupid, Spikey. It doesn’t make any sense.”

The priest hopes that Vash doesn’t notice the way his voice trembles in the last sentence.

“You’re like a bright star in this endless fucking nightmare. You’re an act of God, a beacon guiding us back to normalcy. Most of us throw your gift back in your face, but you still keep on trying. You never give up, never waver no matter how many times you get hurt. Sometimes it feels like you’re the last truly good person on this ball of sand. Maybe that’s the point of it all. Maybe God sent you here to save us, to show us how to be human again. Maybe you’re our hope made manifest, choosing kindness when no-one else is willing too. I don’t…I don’t fucking know.”

“The point, Vash, is that you’re good. You’re the last one left to still choose mercy. You get beaten down, over and over again, yet you still stand back up when anyone else would have given up. Hell, I would have given up! A million times over I would have broken when you refused to! Because you’re kind, Vash, and I’m not.”

Wolfwood breaks off, taking in a sudden breath as he collects himself to continue speaking. The entire time, Vash says nothing. When he starts to talk again, his voice is strained like he’s holding something back.

“...Fuck, you’re so kind, and nobody else wants you to be. Nobody else rewards you for it, treats you with any decency for it. Somehow, you still hate yourself for it. You bear all of humanity’s sins even though you don’t deserve to, and you do it all with a smile. How…how can you blame yourself for this? It was always our fault. Our fault for being stupid, selfish humans. You’re…you’re the last bit of good left, so please…”

Wolfwood’s voice breaks and he looks to the side. He isn’t crying, but he doesn’t need Vash to see the look in his eyes right now.

“...Don’t let the light go out.”

There’s only silence for a full, unbroken minute. Wolfwood keeps his gaze fixed on the ground, looking even smaller than he did before sitting vulnerable in Vash’s palm. The angel himself is dumbstruck, his mouth hanging open slightly as tears gather in the corners of his eyes like drops of rain. They don’t fall yet, but it’s obvious he’s holding back emotions that Wolfwood couldn’t even comprehend.

“...You’re wrong.”

When Vash finally breaks the silence, it’s obvious he’s having to fight for every word. Wolfwood is surprised enough to look up, meeting his friend’s eyes directly for the first time since he started speaking.

“...What?”

“You’re…wrong.” Vash says again. “Humans are…they aren’t selfish or stupid. You’re not selfish or stupid.”

He curls his fingers around the priest protectively, his index finger just barely brushing against Wolfwood’s hair.

“...Humans are good, at their core. They might not always show it, but that’s just because they’re scared. Everyone on this planet is scared, but they’ve still managed to make it this far. They’ve supported each other, built each other up much more than they’ve torn them down. If…if humans weren’t good, then none of us would even be here right now.”

None of them would have survived the landing if not for the selflessness of a single, frightened human.

“So…don’t give up on humanity just yet. I promise, Nick, I’m not here to teach anyone anything. Even if I wasn’t here, I think…I think you’d all survive. Because you’re strong. You’re kind. You’re…you’re incredible.”

Vash smiles. It’s the most genuine smile that Wolfwood’s ever seen from the man.

“That’s why I love you.”

Wolfwood feels his breath catch in his chest as he slowly stands up on Vash’s palm. In a moment of silent connection between the two of them, the angel lifts the human up until the two of them are at eye level. Wolfwood reaches out and places a hand between Vash’s eyes on the brim of his nose, taking a step forward until the two of them are pressing their foreheads together.

In the empty wasteland, Vash thinks he hears Wolfwood murmur ‘thank you’. It may just be a trick of his mind, though.

“...You were wrong too though, alright?” Wolfwood says, loud enough for Vash to be sure that it was him this time.

“H-Huh?” He asks with a nervous chuckle, the feathers over his body fluffing up a bit.

“You were wrong when you said that this is all your fault. It’s not. It never was.”

A shudder runs through Vash’s entire body and his breath hitches in his throat. The tears that have gathered at the edges of his eyes begin to fall as the angel starts to tremble. Wolfwood takes a step back, concerned for a moment at what had sparked that reaction before it suddenly hits him.

“Oh Vash…” He says, his voice soft in a way Vash has never heard before. “Has no one ever said that to you before?”

That’s all it takes to break him. In mere seconds Vash goes from barely holding it together to sobbing, his entire body wrecked from the force of his tears. He’s unable to hold Wolfwood up anymore and instead clutches the tiny human against his chest, hugging him right above his heart as his tears fall and are absorbed by the dry ground below them. Once again, Wolfwood’s ears are filled with the sound of Vash’s heartbeat, running faster than it had before as the angel cries out to no one in the barren wasteland. As much as it hurts Wolfwood inside to hear his friend’s pain, he knows that this is much healthier than the emotional repression Vash has been suffering the past hundred years. This is good. This will make things better, even if it makes him want to tear the world apart searching for everyone who hurt the angel like this and make them suffer the same way Vash has had to, all alone.

“It’s okay…” He says, unsure if Vash can even hear him as he does his best to return the embrace.

“You’ll be okay.”

Chapter Text

The two of them didn’t talk much after that. Vash spent several minutes just crying, holding Wolfwood close while the priest remained still and silent, pressed up against the angel’s chest.. His cigarette had been tossed to the ground ages ago, buried in the desert sand just like all other signs of life on this planet. For once, though, Wolfwood doesn’t feel like he needs the smoke to breathe. There’s a hurricane of thoughts running through his head, all far too complex to come to terms with right now, but at least he’s able to think instead of purposefully dulling his senses until the world fades away.

Eventually Vash’s tears dry up. That’s another thing that’s oddly human about the man, the way that he tires out the same as any normal person would. He can only go on for so long before his body gives out, even if his breaking point is far beyond anything a human could manage. Still, fifteen minutes of sobbing to the point of barely breathing in the empty desert would be enough to exhaust even the strongest person. Eventually something in Vash breaks and he’s unable to force out any more tears. His breath is uneven and raspy, but he still manages to hold Wolfwood out in front of him and do his best to smile down at the man, as painfully dishonest as the gesture is.

“Are you alright?” Is all that the priest asks, voice soft. Vash only nods in response, all six eyes raw and bloodshot. He wipes what’s left of his tears on his sleeve and retrieves the Punisher for Wolfwood. Turns out that the weapon had been half-buried by the sand while they slept, and Wolfwood silently thanks God that it had been covered with cloth otherwise he never would have been able to get it clean.

Soon after that, Vash transfers Wolfwood to his collar and the two of them are off again, walking through the desert without a word. Yesterday it had been because the atmosphere between the two was tense, and neither of them wanted to risk setting off the emotional bomb that they knew hung over their heads. Now, though, that worry has been rendered pointless. The two of them have already seen each other at their lowest, and there’s very little that either of them can say that would make things any better or worse. Neither of them want to talk right now, they just want to process.

Imagine living for over a century, experiencing each and every moment with a vivid memory that refuses to fade with time. Imagine every day ticking on, year after year, the world around you changing but you yourself staying the same. Imagine taking every single burden, every scrap of blame you can find upon yourself until you’re no longer a person in your own mind, just a walking weapon to be pointed at the next innocent victim who makes the mistake of knowing you. Imagine being over a hundred years old and never once in your entire life hearing someone tell you that you aren’t responsible for something going wrong.

This reality isn’t a hypothetical for Vash, this is just who he is. Every step he takes, every day he lives is burdened with the chains of guilt latched deep into his skin like the scraps of metal that hold his crumbling body together. He’s been hurting for so long that he doesn’t even notice the pain in the same way he doesn’t notice anymore when he lays down on the ground and the screws in his back dig into his flesh. It was all so normal to him, just another part of his life on this desert planet none of them wanted to be stuck on. Wake up, fight, survive, sleep, wake up. Over and over and over again. Then Wolfwood said that and he might as well have dug his fingers into Vash’s skin and ripped open every one of his old scars.

No, that’s not right. Wolfwood didn’t hurt him. At least, Vash doesn’t think he did. Whatever waves of emotion had overwhelmed him back then hadn’t been pain. It hadn’t been sadness either, really. Something about what the human said was enough to break Vash open, raw and bleeding, yet he somehow felt better for it. His throat was sore and his eyes were still bleary from all the tears, but he’s…happy, in a way?

No, this isn’t happiness either. What the hell is it? Why does Vash find himself smiling just a little bit easier with the weight of the human against his neck? Why isn’t the same fear as yesterday coiling around his mind like a snake strangling its prey? They’re in the exact same boat as they were before, so why is this different?

To be honest, whatever catharsis Vash experienced earlier didn’t even begin to dig into the swirling storm of trauma that the angel hid inside. It was a drop of water in a desert in the end, but to a man dying of thirst that single drop made all the difference. It didn’t alleviate the guilt, didn’t change how Vash felt about himself, but it told him that things could change, and just that was enough.

Even if he didn’t really believe the priest when he said that this all wasn’t his fault.

Wolfwood hadn’t lit up a cigarette in several hours at this point. A miracle, really, considering how usually he can’t go more than two without feeling like he’s going to tear his own skin off if he doesn’t light one immediately. He’s probably too distracted to even think about reaching for the matches. Or maybe he just remembers the way Vash reacted last time and doesn’t want to start that conversation up again. Things are peaceful now and Wolfwood doesn’t want to break that peace by doing something stupid like always. Better to just dig his nails into his palms, close his eyes, and think for a bit.

God, has his mind always been this loud? It feels like there’s a storm inside his skull right now, clattering half-formed thoughts against bone until his head splits open and the winds spill out. Wolfwood is barely able to pin down a single train of thought long enough to comprehend the basic structure of it before it’s torn away from him by the gale and he’s left reaching out, hoping to snare another one. Him and Vash finally had a conversation that was actually open and honest. They talked about things that mattered instead of hiding their feelings behind layers of aggression and trauma. They’re…better now? He thinks that they’re better now. He probably won’t get actual confirmation on that fact unless he asks the angel directly, which he refuses to.

Damn, he still can’t say what he wants to even now, can he? Still a hopeless fucking mess.

He grimaces and shuts that thought down before it can go any further. Things like that are what got them into this mess in the first place, and he won’t let them control him any longer.

Try as he might, though, the feeling of hopelessness still gnaws at the back of his mind like a parasite boring a hole into his brain. It’s much weaker than before, much less of a threat, but that doesn’t mean he’s killed it completely. Maybe he never will.

Wolfwood sighs, grateful that Vash’s head-wings spread far enough to block out the suns above. At this time of day it’s easy to get a headache from the sand reflecting all the light, and that’s the last thing that he needs right now. Thankfully, Vash’s collar is tall enough to shield him from the light and keep him cool in the shade. Each step the angel takes sways him side to side in a way that’s enough to be noticeable but not enough to knock him off balance. Wolfwood should probably thank Vash for helping him through the desert next time they stop. Scratch that, he should have done that hours ago. It’s not fair that only one of them has to be the one to walk through the dunes for hundreds of iles, even if this is the only safe way to travel right now.

“...Hey.” He calls out, breaking the silence that had remained intact since they started walking again. Vash freezes in place the second he hears Wolfwood speak, lifting his hand up to his neck and offering his palm to the man. It’s difficult for them to speak like this when Wolfwood essentially has to shout in Vash’s ear to be heard and the angel can’t look at his friend directly.

“Yeah?” Vash asks nervously as Wolfwood climbs up onto his palm, slinging the Punisher over his back.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay traveling all day like this? The sand is tougher to walk on than the dirt and it’s hotter out here than it would be on the normal path.”

Vash holds Wolfwood up in front of him and looks down at him, all six eyes wide and staring at him like he just said something insane.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that, Spikey? I just asked a damn question!” Wolfwood yells up at the angel, making Vash blink suddenly and hide his bewildered expression behind his head-wings.

“No! I was just wondering why you asked that!” He whines, every last feather on his body standing up like the fur of a frightened cat.

“What’s there to wonder? Is it really so insane that I don’t want you to die of heatstroke in the middle of nowhere before we get out of this damn place?” Wolfwood throws his hands up, indignant.

“Yes! Because it’s you!” Vash admits before flinching like he’s been shot, afraid that he’s just said something he shouldn’t have. Wolfwood doesn’t seem to understand, tilting his head to the side, bewildered.

“...Huh? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He asks, his voice back to a normal volume as Vash folds his wings back against the side of his head, visibly ashamed.

“Because…because you don’t ask things like that.” He admits. “Nobody does.”

Wolfwood’s heart plummets in his chest when he hears that, once again feeling that spark of anger inside of him that makes him want to tear the world apart and find everyone who hurt Vash like this. Just that simple question, just asking if Vash would be okay after a physically exhausting journey through the desert, had been inconceivable to him. He couldn’t understand someone asking about his physical well-being out of nowhere like that.

Then again, it’s not like Wolfwood ever asked before either. Once again he’s culpable for the very crimes he judges others for. For some reason, though, this time it hurts more.

Vash must notice Wolfwood’s expression because he quickly elaborates.

“You know me, Wolfwood! You’ve seen me survive longer days than this with no problem! Besides, we both know I’m not human. Stuff like this doesn’t bother me, and you know that. If I can survive bullets to the heart then I can survive a long hike.”

He looks confident in his own words, as if verbally admitting to not understanding why Wolfwood might be concerned for him is some kind of definitive closing statement. Wolfwood stares up at him, dumbstruck.

Admittedly, Wolfwood himself is a giant hypocrite because he’d react with the same confusion if Vash asked him about his own health while making a similar journey. Self-reflection will have to come later, though. Right now he’s taking this one step at a time.

“Shit, Spikey, is it so insane to you that you might not be in the best physical state after yesterday?”

Vash doesn’t need to answer, as his eyes tell Wolfwood all he needs to know.

“Fucking hell…” The priest groans, smacking his forehead with his palm and leaning back in Vash’s hand. It’s a little ironic how he’s actually being a better bodyguard to Vash after he’s no longer being paid to keep the man alive. Where were these observational skills when he actually needed them?

“Sorry…” Vash says, looking to the side awkwardly. It’s clear that he has no idea what he’s even apologizing for.

“No, it’s not-” Wolfwood cuts him off, wanting to stop Vash’s self-destructive guilt spiral before it begins, when his eyes narrow and he focuses his sight on the desert behind the angel for the first time in this conversation. It’s an immediate change in energy, as whatever made Wolfwood drop the conversation is enough to put a spark of honest-to-God fear in his eyes. Vash looks concerned, their talk forgotten about as he tries to read Wolfwood’s expression.

“What is it? Did something happen?” He asks, nervously curling his fingers up around Wolfwood a little more.

“You could say that.” Wolfwood growls, grip tightening on the Punisher even though he knows it will do him no good. “Turn around.”

Vash does so without question, holding the human closer to his chest as he rotates around to catch sight of whatever it is that’s made his companion take such a grave tone of voice. Unfortunately for them, it’s not hard to see the danger forming in the distance as it covers their entire field of vision.

This was always a risk that they took, changing directions to trek through the dunes like this. The weather out here is fickle and unpredictable, and they had no way of knowing what kind of conditions they would be met with when they left the traveled path and veered off course into the middle of nowhere. Back when they made that decision, it had seemed like an acceptable risk to take a chance on the desert’s mercy instead of humanity’s. Now that both Vash and Wolfwood can see the beginnings of a sandstorm forming in the distance, however, they’re starting to regret flipping that coin.

It’s no mere dust devil that swirls against the horizon either. This is a towering wall of sand lifted by updrafts strong enough to touch the sky, blocking out one of the suns in the sky and starting to obscure the other. Right now, the duo are safe thanks to distance alone, as the beginnings of the storms are still several iles away. They only have so long, though, before the winds catch up with them and they’ll have to contend with the suffocating force of a storm that upheaves the very ground they walk on.

“...Oh.” Vash says, an exclamation far too soft and meek in the face of danger. It comes with a world of emotion behind it, a silent reservation to the fact that they messed up and should have just stuck to the path. These are not kind storms. They’re the type of cyclone that fills the air with more sand than oxygen, guaranteeing that you’ll choke to death the second you attempt to breathe in and end up with lungs full of sharp grit. That is, if you’re not beaten to a pulp by the wind and the grains before you have a chance to suffocate. Storms like these are the primary reason there’s no life in the dunes, as anyone foolish enough to set up home in such an area would end up facing danger far worse than just the lack of resources.

“Right.” Wolfwood says, biting down on nothing in absence of a cigarette. He’s already calculating how they’re going to get out of this one, though his tone doesn’t hold much optimism. They can’t exactly shoot a storm to death, and these things grow far too quickly to even think of outrunning it. Vash might survive thanks to his perpetual state of quasi-immortality, but Wolfwood himself is completely fucked. He’s still, after everything, just a human. Throw enough obstacles at him and he’ll drop dead just like anyone else would. Anyone except Vash.

Maybe that’s a possible solution? Maybe he can try and hide in Vash’s coat until the storm blows over? Even then, he’ll be leaving the angel to fend for himself, which is a prospect Wolfwood is unable to contend with. He’s already failed in his goal to keep Vash safe back when it was just his job, so there’s no way in hell he’s going to abandon the angel now that it’s his choice.

“Hey, Spikey, maybe you can-” He starts to say as he stands up, before the ground starts to shudder underneath him.

Wolfwood’s balance ends up failing him as he falls to his knees in Vash’s palm, looking up to see that the man is trembling. He’s still holding the human steady, but he’s unable to keep his hands from shaking as he looks out at the storm with a haunted expression. It’s like he’s lost focus with the world around him, only able to see the sand as a sign of impending death while everything else melts away. All of his feathers are standing on edge and for once he’s not trying to force them down. Wolfwood is certain that, had this been happening at night, he would be lighting up like a star right now.

“Spikey, listen to me! Snap out of it!” Wolfwood yells up at his companion as he carefully climbs to his feet, hitting his fists against Vash’s coat in hopes that will free him from the spell that’s overtaken his mind. No matter what, though, Wolfwood’s words don’t seem to register, or at least they don’t have any effect on Vash’s mental state.

“I messed up.” Vash begins to mumble as if in a trance, still staring off into the distance and completely ignoring the priest.

“I should have realized the desert was too dangerous. If I hadn’t gotten stuck like this then we wouldn’t have had to come here in the first place. I should have been more careful.”

He repeats these phrases with no emotion, as if he’s just vocalizing every thought that comes into his head. Wolfwood clenches his fists and shouts even louder, straining his voice just to try and get Vash’s attention.

“This is not your fucking fault, Spikey! The chances of this happening were fucking tiny, and we both made the choice to take this risk! This wouldn’t even be happening in the first place if Legato hadn’t done this to you!”

It’s like he’s speaking to a stone wall for all the effect his words have. Wolfwood can already feel the wind picking up around them, seeing how it’s already starting to lift up the edges of Vash’s coat despite how much heavier it is now than it was before. Wolfwood swears and narrows his eyes so that the sand flying through the air won’t blind him. Absolutely nothing he’s saying is getting through to the angel, is it? Fuck, he’s going to have to figure out a new plan.

Wolfwood has never been one for thinking through his actions before doing them, so it isn’t a very calculated decision when he slings the Punisher over his back and starts to climb up Vash’s coat, using the buttons on the front as footholds as he scrambles his way up the angel’s chest. If this were a less dire situation, he’s sure that he would look absolutely ridiculous scaling his best friend the same way that a lizard or an insect would, but he’s far past the point of caring about stuff like that right now. He tries not to think about how high above the ground he is, or how he’s almost certain he sees feathers start to sprout across Vash’s skin out of the corner of his eyes. None of that is important right now. The only thing that matters is that he gets through to Vash before something terrible happens.

It’s with every ounce of strength he has that Wolfwood pulls himself up onto Vash’s shoulder, standing as steady as he can when his only foothold is a shaky mess. Now that he’s not moving, he can see that he was right about Vash starting to transform again. Pinfeathers have begun to stick through his skin like tiny needles, unfurling into massive white tufts that strike a deep fear in Wolfwood’s heart that he’s not used to feeling. Already the wings on Vash’s back are starting to spread, splitting apart at the joints and multiplying as the angel stares ahead, the emptiness of infinity behind his eyes. Wolfwood doesn’t waste a second catching his breath before yelling at the top of his lungs into the space where Vash’s ear should be. It’s honestly hard to tell where anything is at this point thanks to the rapidly growing forest of feathers.

“Listen to me already you fucking dumbass! If you don’t wake up soon then we’ll both get hurt!” He shouts at the top of his lungs, trying his best to hide the panic in his voice as the feathers creep closer. He remembers far too well what happened last time the angel was forced to transform, and he doesn’t know if he’ll survive another onslaught like that. He can’t go through that pain again, the feeling of his body being torn apart at the molecular level.

Wolfwood feels the chains of hopelessness start to weigh down his heart when he sees that his words have no effect on Vash even with his proximity. Whatever state of mind the angel is in right now, it seems like Wolfwood is unable to break him out of it. The sound of the angel’s bones beginning to crack overpowers the noise of the storm in the distance, and Wolfwood feels grains of sand sting against his skin as the sky starts to go dark. He can hear the choir starting, those heavenly noises that grow louder and louder until it threatens to split his head open.

Desperate and running out of time, the priest mumbles an apology under his breath as he lifts up the Punisher. If words alone aren’t enough to free his companion, then he’ll have to try something more physical. Maybe Vash will come back to reality with the force of 100 kilos of metal slamming into the side of his skull. It’s a stupid plan, but Wolfwood is rapidly running out of options. He tightens his grip on the weapon, aiming at Vash’s temple and takes a deep breath.

He stands there unmoving for ten seconds, as still as a statue despite the chaos raging around him. Then, slowly, he lowers the Punisher back down to his side.

“...Vash?” He says, voice rough and gravely from years of smoking and shouting, yet still possessing a gentleness he thought he lost long ago.

“Vash, it’s me.”

For a moment, the choir calms into a gentle hum and recognition flashes behind Vash’s eyes as he turns to look at the tiny human on his shoulder.

“N-Nick?” He says, voice barely above a whisper carried on the wind. Wolfwood does his best to force a grin despite the situation. It feels impossible for him to smile at a time like this, but if Vash could do it then so can he.

“Hey, we’re in a bit of a scrap right now. I’m gonna need your help before…before the storm hits us.” He tries not to wince at that. There’s really no way to sugarcoat it.

Vash starts to lift his hand up towards the human, then recoils and cries out in fear when he sees the feathers sprouting across his arm. Immediately the choir flares up again and the light grows brighter, the terrible sound of snapping bones piercing Wolfwood’s ears as Vash’s body begins to lose shape. “No no no no no not again!” Vash cries out as he tears at the feathers with what’s left of his fingers, crying out in pain as they’re ripped from their roots. Tears are already streaming down the angel’s face as he tries in vain to stop the transformation.

“Hey! Listen to me, Vash!” Wolfwood says, barely able to get the angel’s attention back on him from the sound of his name. The pure fear in his friend’s eyes sends a spike of pain through Wolfwood’s chest, but he does his best to ignore it and keep his voice level.

“You’re going to be okay, alright? Just focus on me.”

“I-I can’t! I can’t stop it!” Vash cries, his breaths coming in short and shallow as he loses more of his body to the feathers. Wolfwood has maybe a minute of solid ground left, if even that long.

“You don’t have to stop it, Vash. Legato isn’t here this time. You’re not dangerous.” Dark brown eyes meet six bright teal ones as the choir’s volume lowers to something less violent, something almost mournful. Then the last of Vash’s face is lost to the feathers and he loses sight of his companion once again.

“I-I am, Nick!” What’s left of Vash’s body chokes out, bordering on a sob. “I can’t do this again!”

“Yes you can. I’ll be right here.” The words sound foreign coming from his own mouth, but he continues to say them all the same. For once, the snake inside is silent, letting his voice pour out unburdened as the light grows too bright and starts to blind him again.

“I’m…I’m scared.”

Wolfwood can’t be sure if Vash actually said that or if that’s the sound of the choir overlapping to form words that exist outside of time.

“I know.” He replies as the ground below him dissolves into feathers and he feels himself beginning to fall.

“You’ll be okay. I trust you.”

Then the light overtakes his vision and his world fades to white.

Chapter Text

Wolfwood can tell that his eyes are closed. That’s about it, though. It feels like all his senses have left him and he’s been left floating in a void of nothingness. No light, no sound, not even temperature is able to pierce the veil around him. Then, one by one, his senses start to return to him. The first thing he feels is the soft sand beneath him, surprisingly cool despite the heat of the desert at this time of day. Then his hearing returns to him and he’s able to make out a faint, gentle humming all around him. It’s a sound he knows well at this point, one that he didn’t expect to hear again so soon. That settles it, then. Wolfwood takes in a deep breath of fresh, clean air and slowly opens his eyes.

He’s met with the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen in his entire life. He’s laying in a bubble of undisturbed desert with the dunes against his back, the Punisher laying unused at his side. At the edges of the dome are thousands and thousands of ethereal white wings, each giving off a gentle glow that’s bright enough to light up the area but not too bright as to render the human blind from their radiance. The feathers move in mesmerizing patterns, blending in and out of each other until it’s impossible to tell where one wing begins and the other ends. They split off and fuse together as easily as drops of water, dancing across the Wolfwood’s vision like silk curtains.

In the shield of wings are hundreds of golden eyes, blinking into existence for a fraction of a second before disappearing once again. Each and every one of them is focused on the human in the sand, looking down at him with an emotion Wolfwood isn’t able to quantify before they vanish into the tempest and he’s left to search for their glow once again. He’s secure in this bubble of safety, and somehow he knows that the wings are a barrier protecting him from the storm raging outside.

Wolfwood gazes up into the chaos of the wings and locks eyes with an entity beyond his mortal understanding. He smiles more genuinely than he has in years.

“Hey, Needle-Noggin.”

It’s like the warmth and light of the sun overtakes the bubble. Every single wing, every last feather on the body of this indescribable force of nature lights up like a star when he speaks. A few long feathers reach out from the gale and wrap around Wolfwood’s chest in a celestial embrace as six eyes fly over to him, streaming golden tears behind them without shame.

“Niiiick! I was so worried! I thought that you…That I…!”

Vash’s voice is harmonizing with the chorus from before. This time, though, it interlaces with him instead of overpowering him. Wolfwood reaches up and takes one of the feathers in his hand, gripping it tightly and running his fingers over the down. Previously just touching the angel’s wings was enough to burn him, tearing his body apart and reducing his mortal form to nothing but insignificant atoms. Now it just feels soft, like a blanket after a long day.

“Yeah yeah. I told you I’d be fine, didn’t I, dumbass?” Wolfwood laughs, a fondness in his tone that wasn’t there before. Even if the golden eyes aren’t as emotive as Vash’s old ones, he swears he sees his friend grow indignant at the teasing.

“I was scared, Nick! You can be a real jerk sometimes…” Vash huffs with the same tone of voice of someone crossing their arms in annoyance. This only makes Wolfwood laugh again.

God, he can’t remember the last time he laughed like this.

“Yeah but I was right though, wasn’t I?” He squeezes the feather in his hand harder as the ones around his chest withdraw, fusing back into the wall of wings and disappearing.

“You were, thank God.” Vash murmurs, the six eyes forming a circle that floats above Wolfwood’s head.

God, huh? Is that really the one he should be thanking?

Wolfwood lifts a hand up towards the circle, his own eyes lighting up as the wheel lowers itself around his wrist like a bracelet. He would reach out to make contact, but he feels so unworthy when he looks up into that swirling storm of light. He’s just a human, while Vash is something grander than he could ever be. You might as well compare a match to the sun when the two of them are side by side.

“Are you alright?” He asks. Even in this form, he can tell by the way the feathers shake that Vash isn’t used to answering that question.

“Y-Yeah, I’m fine.” The angel says, a dip in his tone that shows he’s not being honest. Wolfwood doesn’t judge him for this, but he doesn’t let it slip by him either.

“No you’re not.”

“No I’m not.” Vash admits, letting the lie go at the slightest interrogation. There’s a shake in his tone. He’s laughing. It’s not a happy laugh, though. Rather, it’s the kind of nervous chuckle someone resorts to when they don’t know how else to process their emotions. Wolfwood’s heard it a thousand times before and he’s sure he’ll hear it a thousand more.

“I feel…Everything. I feel everything so much. It’s not as bad as before but it’s still scary and it’s loud.” Vash sounds like he’s about to start rambling again, but he cuts himself off before he has the chance. For a moment it seemed the dam was about to break, before it seals back up again and Wolfwood is left unscathed.

“Yeah, I get it.” Wolfwood says, trying to offer sympathy in his own shitty way. He is lying. He does not ‘get it’. He will never understand whatever existence Vash is living right now. It is physically impossible for a human to understand the angel’s view of reality, of fragmented fractals of reason and order in a nonsense universe. It’s okay, though. He doesn’t have to understand. For a brief moment, Wolfwood is okay with just being a stupid human on this shithole of a planet.

…Huh, since when was that the case?

“I uh…I’ve been trying to turn back for a while now. It’s not working, but I-I’ll figure it out. I have to get back to normal eventually, after all.”

“Who said you ‘have’ to do anything?”

Wolfwood himself isn’t really sure why he says that. He’s surprised when the words leave his mouth, but he doesn’t doubt they’re meant earnestly. The dome of wings around him shivers, the eyes pulling away as his arm falls back into the sand. There’s a few seconds of awkward silence, before Vash’s voice rings out again.

“Come on, Wolfwood. I can’t stay like this.”

“You don’t have to stay like this, but you don’t have to hate it either.” The priest feels like he’s being driven by a force besides his own mind. No thought is being put into the words he says, yet somehow it doesn’t occur to him to stop speaking.

“I-I do though! I can’t be like this, Nick! Not after I’ve spent so long fighting it! Nick, it’s…I don’t like it.”

Vash sounds genuine when he says that, though it makes Wolfwood feel a spike of sorrow. He wishes that the angel could see what he sees, staring up into the tempest. He wishes Vash could see himself through Wolfwood’s eyes.

…He’s beautiful.

He doesn’t say that out loud. That thought remains unspoken as Wolfwood sits up for the first time since he first opened his eyes. The desert sand coats the back of his hair and he thinks that he can hear the sound of the sandstorm raging outside their little bubble. For the most part, though, it’s drowned out by the constant humming.

“...It’s still you.”

He says it so softly that he’s not sure if Vash can hear him at first. He should have known better, though, as the angel reacts by angling the wheel of eyes away from Wolfwood.

“It’s not…” Vash whines. It’s amazing how the man is able to project such a sense of timidness even when he resembles a geometric shape more than a living being. He sounds hopeless, disgusted with himself for just existing as he really is. As himself. As a Plant.

“Yes it is, Vash.” Wolfwood insists, louder this time. He stares into the cyclone and meets the gaze of any eye he can see. He won’t let the angel turn away from him this time.

“I can hear you talking to me right now, and you’re still the annoying dumbass I’ve been stuck with for the past few months. You’re still an idiot who attracts trouble like a damn magnet. You’re still staring at me with those stupid puppy-dog eyes you always pull out when things get awkward. I don’t give a shit what your body looks like right now, Vash. It’s still you in there. Whatever fucked up shit happened to you when you transformed didn’t touch your mind at all, because you’re just as hopeless as you always were. No matter how many wings, eyes, or whatever other shit you’re hiding from me, you’re still him. You’re still Vash the Stampede!”

He ends this statement by standing up, a few eyes breaking away from the storm and circling around him like halos, taking in every part of him with silent awe as if he’s the one worth worshiping. For a few seconds, there’s only silence, but Wolfwood refuses to back down. Even though being held under the gaze of a literal angel is making his heart race. Then, without warning, Vash breaks out into laughter.

“You’re so mean, Nick! Come on, after all this time and you still call me stuff like that?” He sounds almost happy when he laughs like this, as opposed to before where everything he did rang hollow. Wolfwood takes a moment to recover, taken aback by the sudden change in attitude. Since when did Vash recover from his spirals so quickly?

It doesn’t occur to him for a moment that he himself might be the reason.

“Yeah, I do. Because it’s true, dumbass!” He yells back into the flurry of rings, earning another laugh from his companion as the floating eyes bob up and down teasingly.

“Man, I can't believe you’re still treating me like this. I thought we were supposed to be friends!” The fake frown in Vash’s voice is audible, and Wolfwood doesn’t need the angel to be humanoid to image the exact facial expression he’s making right now.

“Of course, we’re friends, dipshit! Doesn’t change the fact that you’re the biggest pain in the ass on this side of the planet!” He growls, swatting at one of the eyes which simply zips out of the way. In retaliation, one of Vash’s wings reaches out from the cyclone and ruffles Wolfwood’s hair, making him shout angrily and bat the feathers away. His indignant expression just makes Vash laugh harder as he falls back onto the sand, gazing up into the feathery dome and trying his best to fight back a smile.

“...Asshole.” He mutters, unable to resist getting the last word in. Vash just snorts in laughter and flicks some sand over Wolfwood’s suit with his feathers. The priest doesn’t respond, but he makes sure to give the eyes above him the angriest glare he can manage, which does absolutely nothing but make them light up in joy and fly closer. Their conversation abandoned in favor of their childish ‘argument’, they both go silent again and just let the seconds tick by uninterrupted. Vash refuses to take his eyes off Wolfwood, and the priest himself is left alone with his thoughts again. And, as always, Wolfwood’s thoughts are his own greatest enemy.

So this is where they’re at now, huh? They’ve made up. They’re being honest with each other. Things may not be perfect, but at least all their secrets are out in the open and the two of them can try to move on and fix this mess for real.

…Except that’s not really true, is it?

Wolfwood stares up into the swirling typhoon of eyes and feathers, an unreadable expression on his face. Funny how the angel’s true form had been painful to look at originally, when now it’s almost calming to watch the fractals twist around and blend into each other. He’s not in danger here, not anymore. The light around him is a shield to the wasteland outside and Wolfwood himself is contained in the eye of the storm, a bubble of peace on a planet where there’s little to be found.

Vash doesn’t say anything, still waiting for Nick to speak up. Of course he’s still irrationally polite even now.

…This isn’t fair.

Vash doesn’t have any secrets left to keep, at least not to Wolfwood. He’s told the priest everything, and all he’s gotten in return is the same impenetrable wall as before. Wolfwood gets to see the man like this, a terrifying form that Vash kept hidden from everyone else, and he himself is still just a liar. Just like always

Nick closes his eyes as he digs into the chest of his suit. Instead of a cigarette or his glasses, though, this time he pulls out a cross necklace and holds it up to his chest, grasping it in both hands as if in prayer. If the look in the hurricane of eyes changes at all, he doesn’t see it. Right now the only things he can perceive is the ground beneath him, his heartbeat, and the distant choir.

“...Father forgive me for I have sinned.”

There’s still no response from the angel, and Wolfwood feels his tongue grow as dry as paper in his mouth, but he keeps on speaking regardless.

“I’ve done…horrible things. Many that I regret, and some that I don’t. I’ve hurt a lot of people. I’ve stolen. I’ve indulged in smoking and drinking more than any holy man should.”

“...I’ve killed people.”

None of this is a surprise, of course, but Wolfwood still feels his chest tighten when he says this.

“Lord, I’ve done terrible things for money, for protection, for my own gain. I tell myself that it’s for the greater good sometimes, but I don’t…I can’t believe that anymore. Not right now, anyway. These are all sins that others know me for. They are ones I wear on my sleeve, ones I’ve never hidden from people. The worst of my sins, though, is one that I still keep secret, even now. Father, I am a liar, and I cannot continue deceiving like this.”

He almost wants Vash to say something, to break the silence and stop him, but of course the angel doesn’t step in, so Wolfwood takes a deep breath and continues even though every word makes him feel like a knife is being slowly driven into his heart.

“...I lied to my friend, Father. I’ve been lying to him since I met him. I was hired by his enemies to bring him to them, and that’s what I have been doing for several months now. I’ve been leading him right to the people who want to hurt him.”

He stumbles a bit on the last word, keeping his eyes closed. He doesn’t want to see the disappointment in the gaze of the eyes swirling above him.

“I knew it was wrong, but I did it anyway. I had a reason, but it was never enough. Had they not betrayed me, I would have kept leading him on like before. I am a selfish, stupid man, and I always have been. I’d ask for your forgiveness, but that would be sinful as I’d still be lying to you. I can’t ask for forgiveness, Father. Not from you, not from anyone. I don’t deserve it, not after all I’ve done.”

His ‘Amen’ comes in a shuddering breath as he drops the cross down beside him into the sand, keeping his eyes squeezed shut. He expects Vash to open up his wings and surrender him to the elements. Wolfwood certainly wouldn’t blame him if he did. In a just world he’d be feeling the sting of sand against his skin as the desert fills his lungs and he drowns in the wasteland, just another victim of the storm to be buried and forgotten about by time. He welcomes it, almost begs for it. Please just let him become a bad memory so he can’t hurt anyone else again. So he can’t hurt Vash again.

It comes as a surprise to him, then, when he is lifted off the ground by a cluster of wings, wrapping around him and enveloping him in soft down. Wolfwood’s eyes open in surprise, his body instinctively tensing up as he’s cradled in the arms of his only friend, his enemy.

Wolfwood is met with the sight of a ring of eyes staring back at him, dripping golden tears to the ground below.

“I-”

He starts to say, before Vash cuts him off.

“It’s okay. I forgive you.” His voice holds nothing but genuine, unconditional honesty. There’s no embellishment in Vash’s words, no attempt to hide his true feelings to soften the blow for Wolfwood. He truly means what he says.

Nick hangs there for a few moments, stunned into silence, before lifting up a hand to clasp it over his mouth. He feels his throat tighten against his will and his voice cracks when he tries to speak.

“I…I don’t think God is going to forgive me for this. It just wouldn’t be…”

“Nick, I don’t believe in the same world that you do.”

Vash says, holding him closer as Wolfwood feels the corners of his eyes start to sting.

“But you said I was a…an ‘act of God’ or something, didn’t you? I guess that means I’m the closest thing we’ll get right now. And, Nick, it’s okay.”

A few tears escape the priest’s eyes and are quickly wiped away by a feather, its touch gentle as a kiss.

“I forgive you.”

And Wolfwood breaks.

He falls to pieces in the angel’s wings, decades of tears forced back and repressed emotions finally tearing through the wall he’s built around his heart and flowing out endlessly as a river. Wolfwood starts to cry like he hasn’t since he was a child, thick sobs wracking his body as he’s held up by Vash’s wing’s alone, enveloping him and still protecting him even though he’s done nothing to deserve it. He’s nothing compared to Vash. He’s a murderer, a selfish traitor who was planning to betray his only friend as if he wasn’t the only good thing left on this damn planet. Vash would be better off if he lifted his wings ring now and dropped Wolfwood into the sandstorm, finishing off the job before Knives had a chance to. He’s pathetic, a cruel man who had only ever brought pain to those around him and will never be anything more than a blight on Vash’s life, a parasite that latched on and refused to let go to prolong its own twisted survival.

He’s forgotten what it even feels like to cry. It’s a horrible, suffocating feeling that tightens his throat and makes him fight for every breath. He feels so small, so pathetic and weak in comparison to the divine light that is his companion. Failure grasped in the hands of perfection, a symbol of all of humanity’s worst traits amalgamated into one stupid man.

Vash brushes one of his feathers across Wolfwood’s cheek, soaking up the tears for only a moment before more fall to take their place. His wings are so soft, certainly more so than any bed Wolfwood has slept on in his entire life. The angel is showing him nothing but kindness, even now. Him, the man on the planet who least deserves it out of everyone. The realization just makes Wolfwood’s chest heave even harder as he cries painfully into the sea of white.

“Y-you should have thrown me to the damn storm…” He manages to choke out amidst his tears, each syllable broken and desperate as he lifts his arms up to hide his unworthy face. He can’t bear to look at his friend, not like this.

“What good would that do?” Vash responds, voice gentle as his wings wrap around Wolfwood’s chest, embracing him and cradling him until his tears stop falling.

“I f-fucking deserve it. It’s all a…a man like me is good for.” His voice is scratchy and raw, but at least he’s not crying so hard it feels like he’s going to suffocate anymore. Instead he lays limp in Vash’s wings, trembling and trying to force back whatever tears remain inside of him. It’s not working.

“Nick, you were the only one who believed in me when no-one else would. You had faith in me through the worst of it all. I’m just returning the favor.” Vash murmurs, the hum of the choir softening to the slightest whisper, leaving the two of them truly alone in this moment. Wolfwood wipes his eyes on his sleeves, pitifully disguising a sob as a cough and turning his head to the side.

“....Not for me, Vash. Not for people like me.”

“Nick, always for you.”

“Fuck...” Wolfwood has no grasp on his own emotions right now. He’s never felt this way before, all these conflicting thoughts that blend together into a painting that makes him feel like he’s dying yet somehow he’s more alive than he has been in years. He just starts laughing. Desperate, agonized peals of laughter that force the last of his tears out of the corners of his eyes and leave him staring up into the swarm of eyes. They’re all looking down at him, bright with a mix of concern and affection. Always the same. Always Vash.

“...I was a fucking idiot for thinking that you’d do the right thing and hate me.” He says, exhausted as he takes one of Vash’s wings in his hands and squeezes it in absence of a hand to hold.

“You know me. I was never very good at doing what you wanted me to.” Vash comments, a nervous smile in his voice. Wolfwood sighs, resigning himself to the angel’s undeserved mercy and letting himself be held by the blanket of wings.

“...We’re so fucked up.” He mumbles, a statement of fact more than anything else. Vash laughs softly and brushes his feathers gently over the priest’s body.

“Yeah, I guess we are. Do you…do you think we can get better, though?”

If he had been asked that question a week ago, Wolfwood wouldn’t have hesitated before saying ‘no’. There’s just no hope for people like them, not on a planet like this. Now, though, he remains silent for a full minute before giving his answer with a sigh.

“...I don’t know.”

Vash doesn’t say anything, the tentative silence in the air showing that he knows Wolfwood isn’t finished talking.

“...That doesn’t mean we can’t try, though.”

Vash take’s Wolfwood’s head in his wings and presses one of the wheels of eyes to the man’s forehead. It feels warm, like electricity is flowing through his body and bringing his cold, abused cells back to life again.

“That will have to be good enough.”

Chapter Text

The suns up above the wasteland beat down on the desert sand for iles in every direction. The lack of moisture in the air means that the dunes heat up and cool down within minutes of sunrise or sunset, going from temperatures that could freeze you alive to ones that give you heatstroke in barely any time at all. As always, the sterile world is completely lifeless with nothing but sand stretching out as far as the eye can see. There’s no hope of memorizing a path through the desert either, as the land itself shapeshifts at the whim of the wind, reconstructing itself on a daily basis so it remains in an eerie limbo between familiar and unknowable. The desert will always look the same. The desert is constantly changing. These are the kinds of paradoxes that rule the wasteland, ones that guarantee a person could lose their mind out here even if they don’t lose their life.

It’s in this environment that Nicholas D. Wolfwood opens his eyes and finds himself curled up against the bend of a dune, sand coating every bit of exposed skin on his body. He can hear the crunching of grains against his joints when he moves to sit up, his black suit having absorbed more of the suns’ rays and leaving him uncomfortably hot and dehydrated. Thank god he had fallen asleep in the shade of the dune, otherwise he would risk overheating by now. As it is, he feels unpleasant at worst, which is a much better fate than most people would suffer falling asleep in the desert without protection from the elements.

Wolfwood yawns and he does his best to wipe the sand from his face and hair, his mind taking a while to catch up to the present and remind him why he’s here in the first place. Him and Vash had been traveling through the desert when they got caught up in a sandstorm. Vash had transformed to shield Wolfwood from the storm and then they’d…talked. For a long time, about a lot of things. By the time they were done, Vash said that night had fallen, but since the storm hadn’t subsided they were still trapped in place. Wolfwood had fallen asleep wrapped up in the angel’s wings, safe and secure from the suffocating force of the desert. Then he’d woken up here.

…Where’s Vash?

Wolfwood scrambles to his feet when this thought hits him, forgetting about the sand still clinging to his body as he scours the horizon for any sign of his friend. The celestial dome of wings is nowhere to be seen, nor is the 80-foot-tall angel that he’s grown surprisingly used to seeing over the past two days. The priest is all alone in the wasteland, and the realization of this is enough to send waves of panic through his mind. What the hell happened to Vash? Is he hurt? Did something happen to him while Wolfwood was asleep? Where is he?

“Vash?” He calls out, his voice gravelly and his throat feeling like it had been worn down with sandpaper. He almost devolves into a coughing fit just from saying that one word, but he’s kept focused just from the rising sense of dread.

“Hey, Nick.”

Wolfwood swirls around to the source of that voice so quickly that it makes him dizzy. About fifteen feet below him at the bottom of the dune is Vash, sitting down in the sand and holding the Punisher in his lap. There’s a gentle, weary smile on his face as he meets Wolfwood’s eyes, and he offers the priest a small wave as a greeting. It’s at this point that Nicholas realizes he manages to overlook the angel because he had been searching the horizon for someone twenty times larger than him. He had neglected to look down at a lower elevation for Vash, who was now back at his regular size of just under six feet.

Almost all of his angelic features have vanished as well, leaving him looking entirely human save for two things: the sharp glint of fangs in his smile and two small, fluffy wings that still stick out of the side of his head just above his ears.

Wolfwood stares at him in silent shock for a few seconds, making Vash turn his head to the side to hide the blush dusting across his cheeks.

“Surprise.” He tries to joke, laughing softly as Wolfwood slowly starts to walk towards him. That walk quickly transitions into a run as the priest tackles Vash to the ground, pulling the angel into an embrace as Vash yelps and squirms in surprise.

“Don’t ever fucking do that to me again, you idiot.” Wolfwood growls through gritted teeth as he hugs the angel closer, making Vash squeak as the air is forced out of his lungs. He’s still laughing, harder and more genuinely this time as he messes up Wolfwood’s hair and makes sand scatter everywhere.

“Sorry sorry! I would’ve woken you up sooner but I didn’t want to bother you and I was still trying to figure these out.” Vash rambles, gesturing up to the wings on his head which flap twice in confirmation. Wolfwood finally releases the man, sitting back in the sand as Vash sets the Punisher aside next to them.

“What the hell even happened? I just remember falling asleep and then next thing I know I’m waking up with more sand in my suit than there is in the damn desert.” Wolfwood complains, lifting up his sleeve and pouring out even more sand onto the ground below. He’s not going to feel clean for a week after this, he’s sure.

“Not really much of a story to tell, sorry. You fell asleep and then the storm finally faded. I decided to try again to turn back, but this time it felt…different. It didn’t feel like I was battling against my own mind or anything. It was more like I was…molding myself out of clay to make my body look the way I wanted it to. It wasn’t easy and it took several hours, but eventually I figured it out. Well, for the most part.”

His head-wings twitch when he says that and he turns his gaze to the ground as if ashamed.

“...No matter what, I can get these to go away. I think they’re…they’re permanent. I hope they aren’t, but it’s not really under my control at this point, is it?” He chuckles softly. “Next time we enter a town we can buy a knife or something like that. Unless you have one with you? I didn’t think that a bullet would be very safe for something like this, but if it comes down to it we might have to…”

It takes Wolfwood a few seconds to figure out what Vash means by that, during which time he stares at the angel blankly. Then it suddenly hits him and he grabs the man by the front of his coat.

“Or we can just find you a coat that has a hood, Vash! You don’t have to cut them off, especially not by yourself!” He sounds absolutely appalled that the man would even think of such a thing, raising his voice to where it echoes off the dunes around them.

“I wasn’t going to! At least not right now!” Vash whines, the wings flapping quickly enough to kick up a small updraft that disturbs the sand around them. “But I can’t keep them forever, Nick. They stand out too much.”

“We can find a way to hide them, then! You don’t have to hurt yourself just to fit in, Vash.”

Not anymore. Never again.

Vash looks unsure of this, but doesn’t offer any more resistance. Instead he just looks to the side, unable to meet Wolfwood’s gaze directly.

“We need to find a way out of here now. It’ll take longer to traverse this place now that I’m not clearing thirty feet with every step.” It’s a quick topic change, but Vash is right. More important than anything else right now is finding a way out of the dunes. They can worry about the wings later when they actually have a chance of running into someone. Even then, people on Gunsmoke modify their bodies all the time. Wolfwood is sure that the new appendages won’t be the weirdest thing the citizens of this planet have ever seen. If they’re careful, they could even pass them off as some kind of headpiece before they figure out a more permanent solution.

Wolfwood is getting ahead of himself. Their first priority is getting out of the desert, and that’s all they should be focusing on right now.

“It shouldn’t take more than a day’s travel from where we are. If we’re quick we might be able to leave the dunes before nightfall, and then at least we won’t have to worry about the cold as much.” “What if there’s another sandstorm?” Vash asks. Another storm forming so quickly has an astronomically low chance of actually happening, but they had ignored the possibility earlier and paid the price. This time they had better be more prepared.

“I’m not really worried about them anymore.” Wolfwood admits, picking up the Punisher and slinging it over his back. “Even if a sandstorm does come through here again, I know we’ll be fine.”

“How can you be sure? The last one nearly killed us, Nick!” Vash scrambles to his feet and brushes the sand off his coat.

“Cuz if anything like that happens then you’ll just protect me like last time.” Wolfwood says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Man, some kind of shitty bodyguard I am. I’m supposed to be the one keeping you safe, but I really can’t hold a candle to you when you’re at your full strength like that.” Vash stares at him blankly, some unreadable emotion flashing behind his eyes. Wolfwood tilts his head in confusion back at him.

“What’s with that look?” He asks. Vash immediately snaps back to reality, twisting his hands together nervously.

“Nick, you uh…you did keep me safe. Neither of us would’ve made it out of there if you hadn’t said what you did.”

Wolfwood doesn’t seem to know how to process that, opening his mouth to respond then closing it again before he finally manages to piece a sentence together.

“Anyone could have done that, Vash. You were the one who saved my life back there.”

This is another first for Vash, in that he’s actually being thanked for saving a life instead of blamed for ending them. He’s used to trying to save people, but he’s even more used to failing.

Vash gives Wolfwood a smile that lingers somewhere between sadness and gratitude.

“...No, Nick. I’m pretty sure only you could have done that.”

Anyone else could have been there with him, said the exact same words verbatim, but the truth is that it was Wolfwood’s voice that brought Vash back to reality. He’s not sure that anyone else would have been able to manage that feat.

All of this just earns a confused look from Wolfwood, as the man genuinely doesn’t understand how his role was important in any way. Maybe he will some day, but for now he’s got a long road to recovery ahead of him. At least now he won't have to walk it alone.

“Whatever the reason, I’m not worried about the sandstorms anymore. We’ll be fine, I’m sure of it.”

That’s another change from Wolfwood constantly reminding Vash how dangerous their journey is. Vash notices this, but doesn’t comment. Wolfwood’s change in attitude is like silence to him, in that he’s worried about it shattering the moment he mentions it out loud.

“Alright, then.” Vash takes a step forward like he’s about to start walking alongside Wolfwood before immediately tripping over his own boots and face-planting into the sand with an almost comical shout of surprise. Wolfwood looks down at him, visibly fighting back a laugh behind a smirk as Vash spits out the sand he accidentally inhaled with a cough.

“How the hell did you manage that? I’ve seen you dodge bullets!” Wolfwood lifts a sleeve up to his face to hide his smile.

“I got used to walking with a different center of gravity! I spent over a day the size of a mountain, Nick!” Vash protests, looking up at the priest with giant pathetic eyes. “Plus I got used to not having human limbs for a while...”

Vash admitting that is the last straw for Wolfwood, who bursts into laughter as Vash sits on the ground and pouts, arms crossed like a child. Wolfwood doesn’t remember the last time he laughed like this. He likes the way it makes him feel, like he’s lighter than before and there’s a feeling in his chest that isn’t guilt or anger for once. He manages to calm down after a few moments of weakness, smiling as he offers a hand to Vash to help him stand up again.

“Here, let me-”

The exact moment that Wolfwood reaches out towards Vash is the moment that the man tries to stand up on his own, leading to him nearly losing his balance again and Wolfwood’s hand brushing against his wings.

Both of them freeze in place, every muscle in their body tensing up as if they were paralyzed as the world continues to move around them. Wolfwood’s fingers are still in contact with Vash’s feathers, the soft down fluttering against his skin the same way that the cyclone had when it enveloped his entire body yesterday. The priest cautiously starts to breathe again, kneeling down on the ground in front of Vash as the angel stares down at the sand.

“Are you okay?” He asks, placing a hand on Vash’s shoulder. His companion tenses up, but doesn’t push him away.

“Y-Yeah, I just…forgot I had them for a second there.” Vash says, raising his metal hand to his forehead like he’s embarrassed at his own forgetfulness. “It’s stupid, I know, but I’m not used to having new limbs in this form. A-At least, not unless I’m…”

He trails off, unwilling or unable to finish the sentence, but Wolfwood understands what he means. The only time that Vash ever sprouts feathers in his human form is unwillingly or as a result of great stress. Hell, Wolfwood himself has witnessed the result of Vash’s body shifting to something noticeably inhuman. Everyone remembers the day that the crater appeared in the Fifth Moon. That’s the only kind of association Vash has with his Plant nature. Pain and destruction, that’s all the feathers in his human form represent.

Wolfwood hesitates, lifting up his other hand to place it tentatively on his friend’s shoulder. He keeps his eyes locked directly with Vash’s, neither one of them wearing the glasses that could shield them from each other. Wolfwood’s eyes are dark and weary, but contain a spark of hope that wasn’t there a week ago. Vash’s are bright green, almost teal, and behind them lay the memories of a life Wolfwood could never comprehend.

The priest moves slowly, lifting up his hands to frame Vash’s face for only a second before placing them on the base of his wings. The angel tenses up, but doesn’t stop him. Neither one of them says a word, but an entire conversation passes between them in silence. Wolfwood asks Vash a question, and he nods in response.

Gentle fingers run through Vash’s feathers like they were hair, feeling the soft down and stroking it as gently as he would a cat’s fur. Vash shivers at the sensation, then relaxes and lets Wolfwood continue. He even closes his eyes, mentally disconnecting himself from his body and the world around him in the present. He’s not in the desert right now, he’s back in the SEED ship and someone is brushing his hair and humming a song. There’s grass all around him. It’s beautiful.

Then, like a slingshot, he’s back in the present again. There’s still someone touching him, still someone next to him that holds him close and is determined to protect him. He’s not the same person, but he’s here. There’s someone with him again who will stay by his side, who makes him feel safe, who will make contact with him for a reason other than to hurt him.

There’s someone who cares about him again.

Tears begin to bead up at the corners of his eyes as he feels his throat tighten. His first instinct is to pull away just like he always does when he’s distressed, but he fights it back this time. Instead his wings intertwine with Wolfwood’s hands, fingers and feathers weaving together as Vash opens his eyes and meets his friend’s gaze again.

“Nick-” He starts to say, voice cracking. He isn’t able to force out whatever it is he wants to say, but it’s okay. Wolfwood removes his hands from Vash’s wings and wraps them around the angel instead, pulling him close until his head is resting against the priest’s chest. Wolfwood cradles him, running his fingers through his wings and hair.

“It’s okay, Angel.” The priest says, voice soft as the sand around them. If he listens closely, Vash can hear the man’s heartbeat. It’s strong and steady and still present, even after all they’ve been through. Vash could spend the rest of his immortal life listening to that sound, just knowing that Wolfwood is still alive.

“It’s okay.” Vash has shed all the tears in him at this point, so he doesn’t start to cry. He feels like every cell in his body has started to function again after over a century of decaying where he stands. He blinks away the drops that have formed in the corners of his eyes, lifting his arms to return Wolfwood’s embrace with a choked gasp that’s just short of a sob. Ignoring the world around them, the two just hold each other in the wasteland like they’re daring the universe to come and take this from them as well. It can’t, after all. Not anymore.

They remain there for a while, holding each other in silence as Vash trembles in Wolfwood’s arms. Neither of them say a word, yet it still feels like they understand each other better now than they ever have before.

After a few minutes, Wolfwood opens his mouth as if to speak again, except no words come out. Instead he just sits there, still as a statue as his mind and his heart wage a war inside him over what to do. Finally, one side comes out victorious, and he ends up communicating in the only way he knows how to.

“...Vash?” He murmurs, half-hoping that the angel doesn’t hear him. Unfortunately for him, he isn’t that lucky, as Vash raises his head to meet Wolfwood’s eyes.

“Yeah?” He asks, looking a little nervous. It’s rare that Wolfwood shows any signs of uncertainty in his words, and Vash doesn’t know what to expect next. Wolfwood’s grip on the angel tightens, fingers digging into his back as he struggles to find his way through the situation he found himself in. He’s starting to wish he never said anything. Vash doesn’t force him to speak, simply waiting to see what decision Wolfwood makes. In a strange way, this is the encouragement that the man needs, as he inhales deeply.

“I have another confession to make.”

To God? No, not this one. This one isn’t for Him.

If Vash feels something about this, he doesn’t show it. He keeps his expression just the same as before, his wings folding against the sides of his head in a way that makes him look even more timid than usual.

“Okay.” He says. The words flow out of Wolfwood without a moment’s thought or hesitation.

“I love you.”

For an agonizing three seconds, Vash doesn’t react. He just continues staring up at Wolfwood with those beautiful green eyes as if he’s waiting for the words to fully catch up with him. Then he starts to smile, wider and with more joy behind it than he’s felt in years.

“I love you too.”

Wolfwood takes in a breath that hovers somewhere between a choked gasp and a cry of relief as he wraps his arms around Vash again, lifting the man up to where his head is resting just underneath Wolfwood’s chin. From there he leans down and kisses Vash’s forehead, running his hands through the angel’s feathers and hair as he fights back whatever tears are left in him that haven’t fallen yet. Vash returns his embrace, tightening his grip and pulling him closer as his wings weave themself in between his fingers. He can still hear Wolfwood’s heart, and it’s beating faster than ever before.

“Stay with me.” One of them says.

“I will.” The other replies.

“Please stay with me.”

“I promise.”

In time they will have to separate again. They can only stay here in each other’s arms for so long before the limited daylight and the heat of the desert forces them to start moving once more. There’s sure to be more battles ahead, more fights that they may not win and more internal battles they’ll have to wage against themselves. They can’t stop fighting now, as much as they both wish they could. Their world is still a dying wasteland and most people around them have grown jaded and cruel, and they’re going to have to fight like hell to change that. But that’s all for the future. Right now they’re still here, still together, and no force in the universe can change that.

And maybe, just maybe, after this is all over they’ll still have a life left to share with each other.