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Meryl Stryfe did not consider herself a religious woman.
Her family was mostly secular and her own interest in the matter did not exceed that of an academic. She studied it with the same detached outlook she applied to history or biology; it was fascinating at times, boring at others, but useful, at the end of the day, if for nothing else than to understand this shabby planet they all found themselves on and its people.
She’s heard rumors, of course. Of cults dabbling in child sacrifice or human experimentations, worshiping angels that would bring about the end of the world and other such rubbish that was brought to the doors of their HQ. Meryl would roll her eyes at those stories, thinking of them as nothing else but people looking to stir up controversies.
She wasn’t so sure now, staring up with wide eyes at the man she’s put whatever semblance of faith she’s ever had into. Vash looked back at her, expression blank, bracketed by two spindly hands. The otherworldly markings covering the plant’s body were matched by the lines blooming all over his face.
And then there were the wings.
Meryl has read of what plants look like when they unfurl properly, has seen photos, even. But none of that compared to seeing the mass of feathers sprouting from Vash’s back. There were two pairs; a smaller one at his hips and bigger at his back, mirroring the ones of the plant in the container behind him. Perfectly white and ephemeral, the individual feathers seemed to fold in on themselves, appearing one second and then blinking out of existence the next, only to be replaced by more. They moved gently, hypnotically, swirling all over Vash’s body as well as his clothes, white tufts sprouting in patches over his red coat, a couple sneaking in between the bottle-green of his prosthetic.
(She could swear there was movement in her breast pocket where the matching feather Vash had given her rested between the pages of her notebook. As though it was trying to wiggle free and join its companions.)
Meryl watched them fold and unfold, stuck somewhere between fear and reverence. There was a not insignificant part of her brain that screamed at her to hide, run, get as far away from this thing as possible, and the only thing stopping her from following its advice was the fact that all her limbs felt frozen in place. She imagined this was what prey animals felt a second before the predator pounced, having realized what was about to happen but no longer possessing the time to do anything about it. Waiting for absolution.
Then Vash blinked, his eyes rolling back into his skull and the spell was broken. Meryl gasped, suddenly aware of the fact she wasn’t breathing this entire time just as Vash hit the ground face first, the wings flattening against the red of his coat and phasing out of existence in mere moments, as though they were never there.
Meryl heard two more gasps from behind her and turned to see Wolfwood and Roberto looking similarly breathless. They were both panting; Wolfwood leaning on his Punisher for support, a hand twitching restlessly at the handle in the middle, as though he had to stop himself from firing it up. Roberto groaned and slid to the ground, head between his knees, the way Meryl would see him after a particularly hard day of drinking.
She looked back at Vash’s motionless form again and something clicked in her head, now that it wasn’t completely overtaken by existential fear. Suddenly it wasn’t something scary and alien lying there on the ground, it was just Vash. Vash who just saved their lives, saved every life both on the Sandstreamer and in the town they were about to careen into. Hell, Meryl had helped him do it . She stomped down on the panic still seizing her limbs and felt worry bloom in her chest instead. She scrambled on unsteady legs towards him, ignoring someone shouting her name behind her.
She fell to her knees in front of Vash, hands hovering over his prone form, unsure. She could imagine those long feathers sprouting out of his back again, swallowing her fully. Every instinct in her body was warning her that it would not be a pleasant experience, or one that she’d survive.
A metallic clang sounded behind her and then Wolfwood was dropping to his knees on Vash’s other side, the Punisher forgotten behind him. His own movements were unimpeded by her hesitance as he rolled Vash on his back and brought an ear to his nose.
“He’s breathin’,” he said after a tense moment.
Meryl slumped in relief, hands finally falling to Vash’s chest. The last vestiges of fear slowly disappeared as she felt it rise and fall slowly underneath her palms.
She heard Wolfwood breathe in sharply next to her and followed his stunned gaze up to where the plant powering up the Sandstreamer was looking down at them, haloed by its own double pair of wings. Or, rather, her own? Meryl had heard of plants being given names and addressed as people by their engineers, but she’d always attributed it to the innate human instinct to pack bond with inanimate objects, the same way they would give names to Sandstreamers or cars.
The… creature looking down at her seemed to be anything but an inanimate object, big blank eyes staring right through Meryl. It (she?) was covered entirely in the glowing markings that they saw on Vash mere moments ago, blue skin luminescent in the dark of the room, bathing them in a soft glow. Its own feathers seemed… calmer than the flurry Vash’s were in, moving lazily in the tank’s enclosure. It seemed to be emitting a sound, a faint buzzing that fell somewhere between the purring of an engine and the electrical hum of a generator, making her hair stand on end.
It still made something uncomfortable swirl in Meryl’s gut, but nowhere near as bad as the bone-chilling panic she remembered feeling when looking at Vash.
That blank stare moved from her to Wolfwood and he seemed to flinch underneath it. Meryl saw his eyes flick nervously to where the Punisher was lying, and mustered enough control of her own limbs to grab his wrist before he could do something they’d both regret.
The plant tilted its head, looking almost contemplative, although its face remained perfectly expressionless. She’s seen Vash do that exact same thing a hundred times. Meryl felt a hysterical little laugh bubble to her lips and clasped her free hand over her mouth to stop it from getting out.
Whatever it was looking for, the plant seemed satisfied. Or perhaps it simply got bored of seeing them stare dumbly up at it. Meryl watched, her hand still holding onto Wolfwood’s in a death grip, as it slowly retreated away from the glass pane that separated them and back to the center of the container. Its wings folded over its upper body, enveloping it fully. The mass of feathers seemed to fuse with each other, settling down into stillness and the ever present hum quietened alongside it.
Meryl heard Wolfwood swear softly next to her and he yanked his hand away.
“Fuck .”
***
Everything after that was a blur. Roberto eventually sobered up enough from his daze to urge them out of the room before someone walked in on them and started asking questions. Meryl helped him carry Vash while Wolfwood followed closely behind, Punisher at the ready. Any curious looks sent their way were immediately averted when they landed on the muzzle of over a hundred pounds of machine gun.
They slipped into the first unlocked door they could find, confined for now to the interior of the Sandstreamer as the sandstorm was just finished kicking up into full gear outside. Meryl could hear the wind rattling the metal walls of the massive vehicle, could feel the tremors of its force in her feet as she and Roberto lowered Vash down to the ground in the small maintenance room.
There wasn’t much in the cramped space aside from a couple metal shelves and cardboard boxes covered by sheets of linen, both coated in a thick layer of dust. The single lightbulb illuminating the space flickered occasionally. Meryl surmised that whatever function this room served, it wasn’t visited often.
The second Vash was propped up against one of the metal shelves, Roberto immediately let him go and made for the door. Meryl made a distressed noise.
“Where are you go—”
“Booze,” he answered sharply. The door slammed behind him with a loud bang. Meryl winced at the sound.
She turned to Wolfwood instead, desperate for any kind of direction right now. He gave her a tired look and stuck a cigarette between his teeth. Meryl could see his hands twitching as he lit it.
“I’ve got a place in the town we can hide out in. Once the sandstorm's done, we’re getting the hell out of here.”
Meryl stared at Wolfwood as he leaned the Punisher on the wall next to him and settled on a stack of boxes. He took off his bloody suit jacket and scrutinized the myriad of bullet holes on the back.
“That’s it?” she asked incredulously. “So we’re not going to address anything that’s just happened?”
“Nope,” he answered airily, taking out a needle and thread from his breast pocket.
“What?!” Meryl bristled. “But—”
“It’s none of your business,” Wolfwood spat out, leveling the hand that was holding the needle at her.
Meryl’s mouth shut with a click. Wolfwood’s finger was shaking where it pointed at her, his breathing ragged despite his earlier levity. Like he was moments from snapping, not necessarily at Meryl but in general. She recalled the broken look on his face when the man he’d been fighting with brought a gun to his head. She decided to back down, at least for now.
“Fine.”
Wolfwood went back to angrily sewing up his jacket, an action that Meryl didn’t realize could be done with such vitriol. She focused on the other problem currently sleeping in the room.
Vash was slumped against a metal shelf, completely dead to the world. Anything they’d tried to wake him up back in the control room proved ineffective. His prosthetic looked dimmed, a web of cracks covering it from the fingertips to elbow. His head was tilted at what looked like an uncomfortable angle.
Meryl sighed, took off her own coat, and placed it on the dusty ground. It took a bit of maneuvering but she managed to get her arms underneath Vash’s armpits and drag him to lay between her legs instead, with his head resting on her chest. She placed her chin on top of his hair, feeling the unruly strands tickling her face. It wasn’t much, but she hoped it’d provide at least some comfort. She certainly needed it, anyhow.
Wolfwood gave her a weird look from where he was sitting but she decided to ignore it.
Meryl bunched up her fists at the front of Vash’s coat and tried not to think of the swirling white feathers, nor the thousand-yard stare mirrored between Vash’s eyes and the plant’s. Or, mirrored between the two plants, apparently.
Meryl wasn’t stupid, she’d noticed something was up with Vash the Stampede a long time ago. But she expected it to turn out to be some lost tech cybernetics, not… this. She wasn’t sure what to think anymore.
Plants weren’t supposed to be alive, not above the way in which a flower or a tree could be called that. At least that’s what all her textbooks said, what every expert claimed. They were power sources, machines that couldn’t emote or feel. Humanity was dependent on them for its survival, and as such they were considered a vital resource, but that was it. A resource, same as any other one. Many of them were given names, were deeply respected by the towns that they supplied, but no one ever seriously considered plants to be intelligent aside from some radical religious groups.
Questions swirled in Meryl’s head. Did this mean every plant was as self-aware as Vash? Or was he just incredibly good at mimicking human behavior? Meryl really hoped it wasn’t the first option. Plants have been slowly becoming a scarcity over the years, many of them having reached their limit after powering up settlements that required more than what they could give. Previously it was a problem of humanity running out of natural resources they needed to survive. If it turned out they could feel, that they were intelligent beings… it would mean they’ve been essentially killing them for decades .
Meryl felt faint.
The alternative was, what? That Vash was pretending this entire time? She really doubted that. It was hard to think of him as anything other than alive when she could feel his chest rise and fall, could feel his heartbeat underneath her hands.
Wait. Meryl blinked, momentarily stunned out of her thoughts. Actually, she couldn’t feel Vash’s heartbeat. She felt a spike of panic shoot through her, scrambling to take a hold of his hand and press a finger to the inside of his wrist, feeling for a pulse.
There wasn’t one.
***
Nicholas D. Wolfwood would consider himself religious, but he was far from a holy man.
Religion was taught to him back at the orphanage. It was a kind thing, back then, described in the soothing tones of Melanie, their caretaker. Stories of God that was forgiving and compassionate. One that you would say your thanks to for having a meal on the table and prayed to before going to bed.
Wolfwood wanted to be a priest at that point. Travel the world spreading the good word, collect money to give back to the place that had raised him. He read any scriptures Melanie could get her hands on and genuinely believed in what they said with the kind of blind faith only children could muster.
Then the Eye of Michael came to take him. Wolfwood didn’t understand why Melanie had cried when they showed up on their doorstep. They said he’d be building houses, get a proper job that will help people and let him make something of himself.
Look at him now.
Trying to reconcile what he’d been told at the orphanage with what the Eye of Michael preached turned out to be impossible. It was hard to believe in a compassionate God after seeing mangled bodies of innocent children on the daily. Wolfwood remembered one of his earlier sessions, strapped to the table and drugged out of his mind, wondering whether God really existed. Why would He allow something like this to happen. Even if he didn’t deserve His mercy, surely at least some of the other children did. Livio certainly did. And if Wolfwood had to condemn himself to the depths of Hell in order to make sure others would have a chance at Heaven, then, well, he was determined to go out swinging.
Yes, Wolfwood believed in God, but he had also come to terms with the reality that He would not welcome him at the pearly gates when his time had run out. He wasn’t really afraid of it, made his peace with it a long time ago.
Then he came face to face with one of the creatures the Eye of Michael called His descendants and felt, perhaps for the first time in his life, what the phrase put the fear of God into you truly meant. Suddenly Wolfwood didn’t feel so at peace with the prospect of dying.
The sensation of all your muscles freezing was just familiar enough to what being under Legato’s influence felt like that Wolfwood couldn’t help the urge to level his gun at the source. Familiar face covered by unfamiliar markings, a flurry of feathers that made Wolfwood’s skin crawl. The only thing that stopped him was Meryl catching his wrist, eyes wide and terrified but still somehow sober enough to reach out for him.
The needle he’s been weaving through the reddened fabric of his jacket stabbed into his thumb and Wolfwood clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to curse audibly. He’d probably have to get another one anyways, but for now it allowed him to focus on mending something for once. He glared at the blood pooling at the wound, watched as it disappeared with a wisp of smoke that rose up to mix in with the one drifting off of his cigarette.
He overdosed the drugs. He’d known that would be the case when swallowing the last dose. He’d done it anyway, because Vash had asked, and now he was suffering the consequences. He swiped at his forehead, getting rid of the sweat there. Wolfwood could feel his heart hammering in his chest, hands shaking with adrenaline, his body convinced he was still fighting for his life. He wasn’t stupid enough to down two vials at once, that’d certainly lead to his heart giving out, but he was pushing his limits.
Wolfwood threw his half-smoked cigarette to the ground and crushed it with his heel, perhaps a tad harder than necessary. He gave up on trying to fix his jacket and put the needle and thread back into his breast pocket, willing his hands to stop trembling.
He was not going to think about Livio. Too much shit has happened today already and Wolfwood was determined to tackle his problems based on which one was most likely to bite him in the ass sooner. The prime contender was currently passed out somewhere to his right. Wolfwood sighed, letting his eyes fall shut as his head made contact with the wall behind him with a dull thud .
He’s been briefed about plants, more or less, and had to listen to enough of Legato’s preachings to get an idea of their abilities, although he’d thought Bluesummers was exaggerating at first. He knew Vash wasn’t human, and it wasn’t like the idiot was good at keeping it a secret anyhow. Still, it was one thing to be told there’d be a lot of feathers and the feeling of dread, experiencing it firsthand was a different matter altogether.
He was surprised Meryl was doing as well as she was.
As if on cue, there was a distressed sound and Wolfwood opened his eyes to watch as Meryl seemed to try and take Vash’s pulse, expression panicked. She still had him in her lap, her hands wrapped around his chest, which made the whole process much more difficult as she frantically pressed her fingers to his neck.
Maybe well was overshooting it.
“What’re you doin’?”
Meryl’s eyes snapped up to him, full of dread.
“There’s no pulse.”
Wolfwood scoffed. “Yeah, he ain’t got one.”
It didn’t seem to have the calming effect he was aiming for. “That’s bad. You do realize that’s bad, right?”
For a second, Wolfwood considered fucking with her. Then again, they all had a long day, and Meryl looked like she was on the verge of tears. That’d be plain cruel.
He rose up with a sigh, suit jacket slung over his back, shaking out his arms as he approached her. They weren’t trembling as badly anymore.
“Don’t get your panties all twisted in a bunch,” Wolfwood ignored her indignant protest and motioned to Vash’s chest. “You can still see him breathin’. And if you wanna make extra sure, put your hand under his nose. You’ll feel it.”
Meryl seemed hesitant still so Wolfwood swiped the glasses from Vash’s face and put them directly under his nose. They both watched as the lenses were covered in a faint mist. Wolfwood brought them up to Meryl’s face with a hand that barely shook anymore.
“See?”
She took the glasses from him carefully, eyes roving over them, unsure. Then she deposited them back over Vash’s closed eyes.
“Okay,” Meryl worried at her bottom lip although she seemed to relax to an extent. “So that’s… normal? For… plants, I mean.”
Wolfwood shrugged. “As far as I know. They don’t have a heartbeat. Just kinda…hum?”
“Hum?” Meryl scrunched up her nose at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Based on how tired he was getting, Wolfwood could guess most of the serum was out of his system. He put his own jacket on the floor next to where Meryl was sitting and lowered himself down. He was itching for a cigarette but the sight of smoke still made his skin crawl uncomfortably, so he took out a lollipop instead. He crushed the candy between his teeth immediately. Meryl winced at the crunch of it.
“You can feel it if you focus.” Well, Wolfood was pretty sure she could, at least. His own senses picked it up easily, but Meryl didn’t have the advantage of being a genetically modified freak of nature. “It’s the strongest near his chest.”
Meryl still looked unsure but she closed her eyes and scrunched up her eyebrows in concentration, arms tightening around Vash’s middle. Wolfwood could feel the faint thrum that he emitted pretty much anytime they were within a few feet of each other, an electrical buzzing sound that made your hair stand on end. It was distracting at first, but he’d gotten used to it over the weeks. Now it was just another weird thing about Vash.
“Woah,” Meryl whispered after a moment, voice full of wonder. “You’re right.”
“Sounds kinda like a car engine, doesn’t it?” Wolfwood asked with a lopsided smile. He could feel it where his leg was pressed against Vash’s, and with how tired he was getting it was almost relaxing.
“That’s so weird…” Meryl answered, but the tone of her voice suggested she was more intrigued than distraught. Then she looked at Wolfwood and her expression turned wary. “You knew about this.”
It wasn’t a question so Wolfwood didn’t bother answering with more than a grunt.
“Sorry about snappin’ at you earlier,” he said instead, chewing on the stick leftover from his lollipop.
Meryl shot him a look that said I know you’re deflecting but I’m letting it slide because you look like shit. “I thought you didn’t want to talk.”
“It was hard to relax with how loud you were thinkin’,” he complained with no real heat to his words.
Meryl scoffed, but that, too, lacked their usual animosity. “You could make it up to me very easily, you know.”
Wolfwood sighed, leaning his head against the metal shelf and staring up at the lightbulb flickering over their heads.
“That man’s name is Livio. We grew up together and later ended up gettin’ tangled in the same shitshow. That’s all you need to know.”
“And said ‘shitshow’—” Meryl inquired thoughtfully, “—has something to do with the Eye of Michael, correct?”
Wolfwood watched in surprise as Meryl took out her notebook, a bit clumsily, with Vash still on top of her, and opened it on a page with a photo of a symbol he was all too familiar with.
“Where’d you get that?” he asked with a raised brow.
“Back at the Windmill Village,” she answered, closing her notebook shut with a snap and putting it on the ground next to her. “Did some digging on it afterwards. Anything I found seemed too… drastic to believe, though.”
“You really should stop poking your nose where it doesn’t belong, Shortie. It’s gonna get you killed eventually.”
“It’s Meryl,” she corrected, unimpressed. “And you sound like Roberto. I’m a reporter, it’s my job to investigate things.”
“Yeah? And how do you like it so far?” Wolfwood asked, giving her a sharp grin. “You didn’t seem so stoked seein’ this guy go all freaky on us earlier.”
Meryl winced, deflating. She looked away from Wolfwood almost guiltily, arms tightening over Vash’s middle where she was still holding onto him. He almost felt bad for grilling her like this, but it was better that way.
Meryl was too smart for her own good. Quick on the uptake but lacking the self-preservation to keep things to herself. Too noisy and too eager to help people, the way Vash was as well. The two of them just encouraged each other’s most destructive qualities. Then again, if Meryl had dipped and Vash hadn’t done whatever it was that got him knocked out cold, the Sandstreamer would have been up in flames by now, and everyone on the deck with it. Wolfwood would have no issue sacrificing it to keep the orphanage safe.
“It’s still Vash.”
Wolfwood was startled out of his thoughts by Meryl glaring at him. She had a determined twist to her mouth, the same that she wore when they’d ask her to stay in the control room while he and Vash dealt with the cannon.
“I don’t know what he did, or what exactly he even is but—” she adjusted her grip on Vash, taking care to make him as comfortable as possible while he slept and continued in a softer tone, “He risked his own life to save everyone on here, us included. I couldn’t just leave him, it— it wouldn’t be right.”
Wolfwood scoffed, “And are you prepared to die for the sake of doin’ what’s right ?”
Meryl looked at him with steel in her eyes, as intimidating as someone who didn’t reach above a meter fifty and had her face half buried in spiky blonde hair could be.
“I am.”
Wolfwood considered her for a moment. When they first met he didn’t think of Meryl as much more than a liability. Civilians hanging around people like him or Vash, and reporters, at that, spelled out trouble. It was only a matter of time before one of them got caught up in Vash’s mess and paid for it with their life.
Roberto was already on the fence about staying so he had hoped that Meryl would follow soon after. They’d leave and Wolfwood would be able to do his job without having to worry about two civvies getting caught in the crossfire. Plus, Vash liked them, and that only meant he’d get more upset whenever the inevitable struck.
And hell, Wolfwood kind of liked them too. Roberto was annoyingly perceptive and had a good head on his shoulders. Knew when to back out. And it was easy to steal cigs from him. Meryl was spunky and fun to annoy, although Wolfwood didn’t expect her to be much more than some spoiled big city brat. But she ended up having some real guts when it truly mattered and he developed a sort of grudging respect for her. Which was why he tried extra hard to convince her to leave. No point in a good woman dying for some empty ideals.
But with the way she was glaring at him now Wolfwood doubted he'd be able to change her mind, after all.
"You're exactly like him, you know?" he said finally, defeated, motioning to Vash.
"I really don't understand why that's a bad thing," she balked.
"It's bad for your health," Wolfwood answered dryly, shifting to sit right next to Meryl. "And mine."
He hefted Vash up so that his weight rested against the two of them instead of just Meryl, supporting the bulk of his ruined prosthetic. He didn’t even stir, still completely dead to the world.
Meryl shot Wolfwood a quizzical look but didn't stop him, shifting to wrap her hands around Vash's real arm and lean on his shoulder now that she wasn’t almost completely buried under his lanky frame.
"It's not like anyone is forcing you to stay," she grumbled, voice muffled by Vash’s coat.
"True," he lied easily, wondering if she genuinely believed it or was just fishing for information. If she figured out he was affiliated with the Eye of Michael then Wolfwood had no doubts she at least suspected why he’d started following Vash in the first place.
Wolfood swung his arm around both Vash and Meryl’s shoulders in mock nonchalance. She made a disgruntled noise but didn't swat his hand away.
"But I couldn't just leave the two of you dolts to your own devices. You’d get yourself killed in a matter of hours. Doin' the right thing and all that."
Meryl hummed noncommittally. The look she shot him from Vash’s other side implied she wasn’t fooled.
Sitting on the ground with Vash's prosthetic weighing heavy in his lap and Wolfwood's arm slowly going numb where it was crushed between the metal shelf and Meryl's shoulders wasn't exactly comfortable, but he'd slept in much worse conditions. And with Vash still buzzing gently with that alien purr of his between the two of them, it didn't take long before he felt himself dozing off, eyes sliding shut.
"Wolfwood?"
"Hm?" he asked tiredly, with his eyes still closed.
"Do you think that when Vash wakes up…Do you think he's going to be okay?"
"You can ask him yourself when he does."
Maryl sighed, frustration intermingled with concern. "Well, yes, but you know how he is. I'm worried he'll just try to pretend like nothing happened."
Wolfwood shrugged and nudged Vash's sharp chin away from where it was digging into his collarbone.
"We can't force him to talk to us if he doesn't want to," he hummed. "And I have a feeling he won't be too eager to explain the feathers."
"So what can we do?"
“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “I think for now he’ll appreciate just having someone there when he wakes up.” Even if he’d never admit to it , Wolfwood thought to himself.
Meryl didn’t answer. He felt her shift next to him and cracked one eye open to see her take a hold of Vash’s prosthetic arm, fingers tracing the cracks that webbed around his palm.
“How’d this happen, anyhow?” she asked, much less sullen.
“Got fractured when we were holdin’ up the cannon,” Wolfwood answered absentmindedly, feeling exhaustion clawing at his mind as they sat there. He couldn’t sleep until they got out of here but God, did he want to.
Meryl’s fingers froze on where they had followed the cracks up to Vash’s wrist. She sat up from where she was leaning against Vash and looked up at Wolfwood, brows furrowed in confusion.
“You held it up… with your hands?”
Wolfwood grimaced and huffed out defensively, “Listen, there were a lot of things happenin', I wasn’t exactly thinkin' clearly.”
“You’re an idiot.” Meryl said in a tone of voice that sounded as though she’s just solved some existential riddle.
“I’d like you to come up with a better idea,” Wolfwood narrowed his eyes at her.
“You could have wedged something in between it!”
“Like what?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Meryl sniped, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe the big metal cross you keep lugging around!”
“I would not risk the Punisher breaking,” Wolfwood retracted his arm from where it encircled Vash’s shoulders to level a finger at her, feeling his hackles rise.
“But you’d risk your bones?” Meryl asked, incredulous. The two of them moved to lean over Vash as they argued, the former blissfully unaware of their squabble.
“Bones can mend.”
“So can metal!”
Wolfwood was just about to open his mouth to lecture Meryl on how much trouble fixing a piece of machinery as complicated as the Punisher would be when the door to the room swung open with a grating, metal sound. The two of them stared up like deer in headlights at where Roberto stood in the doorway, hands full of paper bags. His eyes jumped from Wolfwood to Meryl and then to Vash who was snoring quietly in between them.
“Am I interrupting something?” he asked with a quirk of his eyebrow.
“No!” they answered in unison, voices similarly horrified. Wolfwood immediately leaned back, arms crossed over his chest. He felt his face heat up and blamed it on anger. Meryl was beet red on Vash’s other side, although she was bravely pretending to be unaffected.
“Right,” Roberto said dryly and threw one of the bags at Wolfwood. He caught it easily and could smell what was inside even before he opened it, feeling his stomach twist with hunger. “They’ve set up some stations to take care of the people who were injured in that whole mess. There was free food so I swiped some.”
“I thought you were going to get alcohol.” Meryl said as Roberto handed her a bag and went to sit on the ground next to her with a grunt.
“I did,” he answered, taking out his flask and shaking it gently, causing the liquid inside to splash. He handed one more bag to Meryl, this one looking substantially fuller than the previous two. “Got some for our sleeping beauty as well, whenever he decides to wake up.”
Wolfwood was three donuts deep into his own meal, any frustration forgotten now that his body was focusing on trying to make up for all the healing it’s done in the past couple of hours. Going hungry for however long the sandstorm raged would have been miserable.
“I could kiss you, old man,” he said with his mouth still full.
“I’ll pass, thanks,” Roberto drawled, uncorking his flask. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’m going to try my best to forget the past twenty four hours.”