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On the long, mundane car rides across the desert, Wolfwood was most often sleeping. He and Vash both take advantage of the moment for some much-needed rest.
They don't typically stop the car fully, taking a break from their journey. But Meryl, the only sober, somewhat responsible driver (next to Wolfwood, though, Roberto’s distrust of him was made abundantly clear) had grown tired, the group deciding to let their designated driver have a rest and for the rest of them to be able to stretch. But, when sleep evades Wolfwood and everyone else has gone quiet, he finds a way to keep his hands busy.
He carves figures out of wood.
Wolfwood had been doing it for as long as he could remember. He’d had more time to do it, more of a reason to while in the orphanage. “The devil finds work for idle hands!” He’d hear time and time again. So, he found a use for them. At first, it was nothing more than making spears out of sticks, whittled down to a point with a sharp rock he found lying around. He’d make drawings with them in the sand, use them as make-shift darts. When he found a spare pocket knife lying around, he started to get more creative with his work, and that's when the other kids began to take notice.
Birds were the easiest to carve, they were his favorite. Gliding his knife across the grain of the wood, marking out feathers, it was the few times he could put his mind at ease. He could have that little piece of freedom, right in the palm of his hands. He could give it to the other kids, too. A piece of the sky, a bit of freedom. And they cherished it, he soaked in their laughs, their smiles, and their tight, suffocating hugs when he gifted them. Wolfwood could spend forever carving at small pieces of wood, if it meant that the kids were happy.
When Wolfwood left the orphanage, when he found himself wandering from city to city with Vash and the others, he never dropped his hobby. He’d find a small piece of wood to carry around with him and carve at when no one was around to see it. And when he was done, he'd find some kid in town, one that looked a little less than happy, and he'd watch as the small wooden figure brought a smile to their face. He smiled too. A hand in their hair, a promise to not get in too much trouble, and he was on his way. Off to the next city, off to carve out another bird from wood.
Wolfwood sat on the roof of the van, Vash snoring softly at his side, he always made sure to do this when the others weren't around and awake to see him. Mostly for fear that they'd know anything about him, and mostly because he didn't give a damn to talk about it. From the pocket of his jacket, he pulls out a relatively flat piece of wood. Cigarette in his mouth, courtesy of Roberto, he begins chipping away at the wood—a squared off head, flat rounded wings. He has been slowly forming it into something bird-like, the detail of a beak and beady eyes, when Vash stirs beside him, soft, droopy blue eyes on the figure in his hands. He resists the urge to throw his work as far as he can into the desert sand.
“... Thought you were sleepin’, Spikey.”
“Mm, I was. What's that there?” His voice is low and raspy, not fully awake.
“It's…just a piece of wood. Nothing special, just something to mess with.”
Vash laughs softly into his blanket, and Wolfwood nearly drops the damned bird because of it. His laugh is warm, it melts him. It is breathy, and it makes Wolfwood’s heart beat wildly in his chest, as if it were trying to escape him, find its way into Vash’s hands.
“It looks a little more complicated than that, Nico.”
Wolfwood isn’t all that ecstatic about others knowing about this hobby of his, but, if it has to be someone who finds out, then Vash isn't the worst possible option.
“Well, guess you caught me red-handed, Needle-noggin. It's a bird, sorta. Still workin’ on it.”
Vash, a little more awake at this point, begins to sit up, blanket pooling at his waist. “Nico, that's insanely impressive, how long have you been doing this for?”
“Since I was at the orphanage, used to make ‘em for the kids. Kept me busy.”
“That’s really sweet, Wolfwood.”
Wolfwood feels he'd rather have Vash laugh in his face than compliment him like this. He turns away from his gaze, back down to the bird.
“Alright, yeah. That’s about enough outta you, Spikey.”
“I’m serious! It looks great, too.”
Wolfwood holds the bird tight in his hand, turning it, mostly to distract from the growing feeling of warmth in his chest, how it spreads to the very tips of his fingers.
“Can I see it?”
“You’re seein’ it right now.”
“No, I mean hold it.”
Wolfwood glances at Vash’s awaiting hand, one of flesh, held out flat in front of him. Wolfwood lets out a sigh, placing the bird in his hand. Vash flips it around in his hand, his thumb carefully inspecting every curve and line, the expanse of the bird's wings and its rounded beak. A smile forms on Vash’s face, one that makes him weak in the knees, makes him find a way to steady his nerves.
“It's amazing, Nico. Think you could make something like this for me?”
“Oh, so you think I do this for free, angel?”
Vash stutters from the name, fumbling with the bird in his hand, “I— well, I don't know. Can’t do me a favor this one time?”
“Guess I’ll just have to think it over.”
Passing the bird back to Wolfwood, Vash’s fingers graze his, and they don't leave. He takes Wolfwood's hand in his, holding on tight to the bird.
“Nick, you remember that time in the sand worm? What I said to you?”
Wolfwood doesn’t think the beating in his chest could get any louder in his ears, but it does . Of course he remembers, he sure as hell he is never gonna forget it. What kind of person says that to someone they just met? He’s a good guy, I can see it in his eyes. Wolfwood doesn’t want to unpack that, the way it makes his chest feel unbearably hot. It’s stupid, Vash is stupid, and far too trusting.
“Nope, no idea what you're talkin’ about Needles.”
A soft, knowing smile reaches Vash’s lips. He knows full well that Wolfwood is playing dumb, but he entertains it nonetheless.
“You’re good, Nico.”
Wolfwood's grip on the bird is deathly tight, Vash feels how tense he becomes from his words. He removes the bird from his grip and rests it in his lap. He grabs Wolfwood's hand in both of his; feels him flinch from the coolness of the prosthetic against the heat of his flesh.
“I can see it in your eyes.”
The fingers of Vash’s prosthetic trace over Wolfwood's own, over the rough calluses. In the coolness of the desert night, Wolfwood is unbearably hot. Vash brings Wolfwood's hand to his face, his lips pressed to his wrist, and Wolfwood can't imagine moving past this moment. Vash’s eyes meet his, and a smile forms on his lips, he can feel it across his palm.
“So, could you make me one now? Nico?”
Vash laughs full from his chest when Wolfwood's eyes open wide, mouth agape. Wolfwood snatches his hand away from Vash’s open mouth.
“God— fuckin’ hell, Spikey.”
“Have I convinced you yet?”
“Yea, you’re sure as Hell not gettin’ a damn bird from me.”
“Nick! Please?”
“Not happening.”
Wolfwood takes the bird from Vash’s lap, sticking it back into the pocket of his jacket. Vash pouts as he puts it away, sinking back into his blanket pulled up to his face.
“Well, would you teach me then? Since you're so stingy?”
Wolfwood doesn’t want to think about the implications of that, of teaching Vash something that is so personal to him, sharing that bit of himself with Vash. He sighs as he reaches back into his pocket for his knife, handing it to Vash.
“I don’t have any more pieces of wood to carve with, but if you can find something, I’ll teach ya.”
The brightness of Vash’s smile as he takes hold of the knife is one that rivals that of the stars that hung above them. Vash nearly topples over himself in the process of reaching for his bag, riffling through it.
“No shot you have some on you.”
“I think! One of the kids in town, they found this weird looking piece of wood and gave it to me, decided to keep it with me. In case of emergencies!”
Wolfwood laughs low, the idea that Vash had a collection of trinkets and worthless items stowed away in his bag just because he was gifted them. Vash never carried much on him, a blanket and some bandages if he could find them. But, it was a big bag he carried with him from place to place, Wolfwood imagined that's what the rest was filled with. Interesting rocks, child’s drawings, things of that sort. Because of course Vash would hold onto those than make room for some more important things, for extra food or ammunition. Vash’s face lights up when he has one hand deep in the bag, pulling from it a small, flat piece of wood. Bringing it to his face for closer inspection, a look of disappointment falls across his face.
“Oh, I’m not sure if I could make this into a bird. It's a bit small.”
He is right, the wood is very thin, there isn’t much to work with. It’d be hard to define it, make it more rounded and lively, turn it into something vaguely bird-like.
“We can make something else, Vash.”
Vash instantly perks up at that, hurriedly putting the wood into Wolfwood's hands.
“It's very flat, but that could work well for some things, like fish.”
“Fish?”
“Yea, they’re pretty easy. Look,”
He presses the wood into Vash’s gloved hand, his own hand grasped around Vash’s, keeping the wood in place. He shows Vash a rough form for the fish, his fingers grazing the wood's surface, elongated half circle shapes along the length of it. Vash watches intently, eyes darting between the wood and Wolfwood's demonstration to the darkness of his eyes, they shine bright in a way Vash has only seen a handful of times.
“That's about the shape you wanna get, you can dig the tip of the knife into the surface of it, make it visible that way.” Wolfwood finishes his explanation, bringing his eyes up to meet Vash, who's already staring back at him. It catches him completely off guard, expecting Vash to have been paying attention to his instructions.
“Did you even get any of that Needle-noggin?”
“Yeah, definitely.” His gaze doesn't falter, the intensity of it putting Wolfwood on edge. Removing his hand from Vash’s, he crosses his arms against his chest.
“Right, well, get to it then. Let's see how you do, Spikey.”
Wolfwood can finally feel himself relax just slightly when Vash moves his focus to the wood in his hands. He takes it as his opportunity to get a cigarette in his mouth as quickly as possible and distract himself from it, from Vash. The pocket knife flips open, and Vash begins tracing out a rough shape of the fish, triangles for fins.
A look of concentration falls on Vash’s face, carefully shaving away at bits of wood, it makes Wolfwood's chest feel tight looking at him too long. Vash has trouble making more intricate details in the fish with the pocket knife he holds in his prosthetic. The fish-like piece of wood switches between his hands often, the knife in the hand of his prosthetic when he was chipping away at bigger pieces moves to his gloved hand when he starts carving in gills and scales.
When he moves to the tail of the fish, the knife is dangerously close to slicing off the tip of Vash’s thumb, so much so that Wolfwood nearly knocks it out of his hand in concern. He sighs, taking hold of Vash’s wrist, changing the position of the knife in his hand.
“Hold the knife like this, angel. You get a better angle carvin’ that way, and ya don't risk cuttin’ your thumb.”
Vash hums in a response, his movements much slower than before, more focused. Wolfwood watches carefully with mild amusement. Vash has his tongue sticking out in concentration, and his cuts in the wood are sloppy with inexperience, but it was beginning to look like a fish.
When Vash deems his creation complete, he wipes away at the small curls of wood in his lap, dusting off his blanket. He brings the fish close, examining it from every possible angle before letting out a satisfied hum and holding it out in front of Wolfwood to see.
“Finished? About time, Spikey.”
“It was my first time, be nice! Look!”
A soft smile falls on Wolfwood's lips as he takes the fish in his hand, his thumb grazing over every curve and divot, the shaky lines of the fins and sharp points of carved out scales.
“... You did alright.”
Vash pouts, taking back his crooked fish. “Well, I think it's pretty good for a first try.”
Despite Wolfwood's teasing, Vash smiles. He admires his work in his hands, what Wolfwood helped him create.
“Thank you, Nico. For teaching me.”
When the words leave Vash’s mouth, Wolfwood is too caught up trying to compose himself. Vash looks at him like it's the happiest he's ever been, like sitting here with him, carving figures from wood, is all he ever needs. He's too busy trying to figure out how Vash managed to carve a place for himself in Wolfwood's chest, a home next to his heart. His breath catches in his throat, and he has to force the words out, force himself to stop staring.
“Yeah, anytime, Spikey.”
The two grow tired, their wooden figures held close to their beating hearts while they drift off to sleep underneath a sky of stars. Before Wolfwood's eyes fall, he holds the bird tight in his palm over his chest, he prays—for a million more nights like this one, a collection of wooden figures; he prays that Vash would never learn to properly carve figures from wood, prays he could spend his tomorrows teaching him how.