Chapter Text
Vash came to feeling comfortable and safe, and that in on itself should have alerted him to the fact that something was wrong. It appeared he was in an actual bed, too, which was a rarity among his usual sleeping venues.
He cracked his eyes open just a smidge and was greeted by dark hair obscuring his vision, first rays of the suns climbing in through the window to warm the bed sheets at his legs. There was an arm wedged between his head and the pillow.
For a moment it all seemed so familiar that Vash was convinced he was still on the colony ship, Rem’s long dark hair getting in his eyes as the three of them sat on the soft grass under an artificial sky. She’d tell them stories of Earth back in its prime and sing in a low, quiet tone that always managed to put his heart at ease. His own personal slice of heaven.
Then Vash’s eyes opened fully to a wooden ceiling and the realization struck.
The hair in front of his face was shorter than Rem’s and the arm under his neck was definitely too big to be hers. Vash made to sit up and was stopped by a weight on his chest. He looked down, still half awake but definitely getting there as reality hit him like a bucket full of freezing water.
He was lying in bed in a small but cozy room. In the bed with him were two other people, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out who they were but Vash was seriously blanking on how exactly he’d ended up in this situation.
Vash lowered his head back down onto the arm that was acting as a second pillow, taking care not to make any sudden movements. He stared up at the ceiling, a weird mix of contentment and trepidation swirling in his belly.
Wolfwood was on his left side, nose pressed to Vash’s temple, one hand slung loosely over his abdomen and the other supporting his head. His breath smelled like cigarettes where it ghosted over the side of his face. Meryl was on his right, holding onto his arm as she slept, head tucked under his chin. Her hair was sticking up at odd angles, dark strands tickling his nose. Vash’s legs were tangled with two other pairs underneath the covers but he couldn’t quite tell which limb belonged to whom.
It felt nice.
Vash felt heat rise to his face, was about to swing the arm that Meryl wasn’t clinging to over his face when he realized with a flash of panic that it was gone. His eyes flashed around the room, landing after a moment on a bedside table to his right where he could see the familiar green of his prosthetic. It was half laying on the surface and half hanging off of it, too big to properly fit alongside Vash’s gun and what he recognized as Meryl’s notebook. He spotted the Punisher as well, wrapped up and resting against the wall next to the door.
There was one more bed in the room, smaller than the one they were currently in, with the covers thrown aside, as though someone had left it in the middle of the night and didn’t bother to fix them afterwards.
Vash let out a relieved sigh, dropping back to the bed. He’s had instances of people taking off his prosthetic before while he was passed out or just straight up stealing it, intending to pawn it off as a piece of lost technology. It was always a pain to track back down afterwards.
Much calmer now, Vash noticed there was a chair on the other side of the bed, facing it. His coat was draped over the backrest and on top of it Wolfwood’s suit jacket and Meryl’s own coat stood in stark contrast to the red of his.
Well, actually, the black of Wolfwood’s jacket was stained in places. Bullet holes marred the material, some of them stitched together unevenly. Vash stared at the garment for several seconds, gears turning in his head.
He felt his whole body go taut when the events from the past days caught up to him. Livio. The raiders. The cannon, and then…
The plant. They’ve seen him with the plant. The markings, the wings, the feathers, the everything . Vash knew the effect it had on people, on humans , and it wasn’t pleasant. He’d been chased out of enough towns in his lifetime to know that no one welcomed him after they’ve experienced it.
This was bad . One part of him, the sensible part, screamed at him to slip out of the bed, grab his things and run while he still could. Wolfwood would probably follow him, Meryl as well, really, but he could at least put some distance between himself and the two of them to avoid the fallout. Vash was good at that, at running away, had places he could go where people wouldn’t find him. Maybe wait a couple years before venturing out again.
He should really do that. It was the safer option for all of them.
But Vash has never been very good at the whole self-preservation thing. When he was younger, much younger, he would tell himself he’d stop getting attached to every town, every kind stranger he’d meet during his travels. He’s learned that leaving was an inevitability, but despite his best efforts he could never bring himself to just stop caring. So he’d learned how to grieve instead. It never got easier, but it grew familiar, something he’d learned how to handle.
Vash wasn’t sure he could handle this, though. He lied in the soft covers, body thrumming with nerves, feeling Meryl and Wolfwood breathe deeply on both of his sides. The treacherous part of his mind, the one that always got him in trouble, was begging him to stay right here. And it was getting progressively harder to ignore the longer he lay there, muscles slowly relaxing. Vash couldn’t remember the last time he had people touching him like this. He let out a shaky breath.
Both Wolfwood and Meryl had seen him with the plant. He vaguely remembered Meryl’s horrified expression, the way Wolfwood grabbed for the handle of the Punisher, and then nothing. Vash had no idea how they’d get from that point to basically cuddling in bed together. They clearly must have dragged him out of the Sandstreamer, and to wherever they were right now.
Wolfwood had his reasons for following him, ones that Vash wouldn’t ask about for the same reasons why Wolfwood never asked anything about Vash’s nature. Meryl, on the other hand, would want to dig deeper into what happened. He could understand why they would want to keep him around, keep him alive. What did not compute were the hands over him, warm and comforting, making Vash’s chest kick up into a pleased little rumble he hasn’t allowed himself in years.
Maybe they were just leeching off his body heat, his brain provided helpfully. Vash ran hot, hotter than a normal human, and the desert nights were freezing when compared to the heat of the day. Maybe they just started out in bed together for completely practical reasons and this was all just a big misunderstanding. Wolfwood and Meryl were going to wake up and laugh the whole thing off anytime now, and then Vash would get his things and make a run for it before they could start asking any questions.
“Good Lord, Spikey, can you stop squirmin’ around,” Wolfwood grumbled above his ear and Vash froze, head snapping to the side to look at him.
Their faces were inches apart. Wolfwood’s eyes were still cloudy with sleep, hair muffled by the pillow. He frowned at Vash as he tried to make his throat work properly to say something .
Wolfwood must have noticed his distress because his expression softened and he retrieved his arm from underneath Vash's head to prop himself up on his elbow with a sigh, looking down at him expectantly. His other hand was still resting over Vash's middle, equal parts a comfort and a distraction.
“What’s wrong, Needle-noggin? C’mon, talk to me.”
Vash swallowed, weighing his options. “Where are we?”
“Hopeland Orphanage. I know the woman who runs it. We’re safe here,” Wolfwood answered easily. He withdrew his hand to reach out for a pack of cigarettes on the bedside table. The absence felt both relieving and disappointing.
Vash hummed inquisitively, perking up at the name. “This is where you grew up.”
“Yeah,” Wolfwood answered, lighting his cigarette and leaning back to lean against the bed’s headrest. His usual black dress shirt was gone, and in its place was a worn knit sweater. It made his usual rough edges appear softer.
“How're you feelin’?”
“Good,” Vash admitted, and for once it was the truth rather than an empty reassurance. “Hungry.”
Wolfwood huffed out an amused snort, smoke curling out of his mouth. “Makes sense. You’ve been asleep for almost two days now. Shortie was startin’ to worry.”
“Just her, huh?” Vash asked with a quirked brow, feeling himself relax at the familiarity of their conversation.
Wolfwood shot him an unimpressed look and then puffed out a cloud of smoke straight in his face. Vash made an indignant noise, shaking his head to dispel it in lieu of missing one of his arms and having the other trapped where Meryl still had it in a vice grip. She scrunched up her nose at the smell from where her head rested on Vash’s shoulder and her eyes opened up a crack.
“Are you seriously smoking in bed?” she grumbled out, still half-asleep.
“If it bothered you that much you wouldn’t have climbed into it in the first place,” Wolfwood answered airily, stubbing out his cigarette into a proper ashtray for once.
Meryl just groaned and buried her face into the crook of Vash’s neck, as though she was hoping it would save her from the smoke. He felt the tips of his ears going red and sent a pleading look to Wolfwood, who was climbing out of bed with a smug look.
“Spikey’s up, by the way,” he relented finally, stretching his arms above his head, joints cracking loudly.
Immediately, the weight on his good side disappeared and Meryl was looking at Vash with wide eyes, dark hair messy from sleep. Her face was getting redder by the second now that she realized he was aware while she clung to him.
He gave her an uncertain smile. “Hi?”
“You’re awake!” she exclaimed and then was on his neck again, hugging him tightly. Vash chuckled and returned the embrace with his newly freed hand, feeling something awfully fond twist in his chest.
Meryl let him go after a moment, half-sitting up in the bed as her eyes roved over him worriedly, “Are you okay? You’ve been asleep for almost two days, we were getting worried.”
“So I’ve heard,” he answered, shooting a look at Wolfwood who was pointedly not looking back at him and instead scrutinizing his bloody jacket still draped over the chair. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”
“I don’t need an apology, I want to know if you’re feeling alright,” Meryl huffed with a frown but her eyes were softened by concern. Her hand swept away the hair falling into Vash’s eyes, almost absentmindedly.
“I’m alright,” he said with a reassuring smile, fighting the urge to lean into her touch. “Just a bit tired and hungry.”
Meryl studied him, any traces of sleep gone from her sharp eyes, most likely gauging whether he was lying for their sake. She nodded finally and her eyes shifted to where Wolfwood was approaching the door with his jacket slung over his shoulder.
“And where are you going?”
“Breakfast,” Wolfwood answered easily. “And coffee, before that.”
“You guys have coffee here?” Vash asked, curious. It was rare even in the big cities, he didn’t expect the orphanage to have any. Meryl perked up next to him at the mention of it.
“Got the fancy milk, too,” Wolfwood gloated. “How’d you want yours, Shortie?”
“It’s Meryl,” she pointed out, although it lacked her usual insistence as she hurried to get to her order. “Two sugars, no milk, please. I haven’t had coffee since we left the HQ…” she sighed dreamily, sitting up against the headboard.
“Gotcha,” Wolfwood’s eyes moved to Vash, eyebrow quirked in question.
“Um. Three sugars and milk?”
Wolfwood huffed, amused. “Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.” He opened the door and once more considered his ruined suit jacket. “I’ll see if Melanie can help me salvage this, too…” he murmured, more to himself than to them, twisting the fabric in his hands anxiously. Vash watched him let out a steadying sigh, like he was preparing himself to go into battle rather than to meet the woman that raised him. Wolfwood closed the door behind him with a soft click .
Vash was left still laying in bed with Meryl propped up next to him. He shot her a questioning look.
“What was that about?”
Meryl smirked, “Apparently, Wolfwood hasn’t come back here for years. You should have seen him when we first got to the orphanage. He looked like he was expecting Miss Melanie to crucify him on his own cross.”
Vash huffed out a laugh. “Well, did she?”
“No,” Meryl sighed in faux disappointment. “But she did take him aside and lectured him for a good twenty minutes. I think he was on the verge of tears by the end,” she snickered.
“Sounds like he really cares about this place,” Vash said, fingers picking lazily at a loose thread in the covers. He recalled the way Wolfwood threatened him if anything happened to the orphanage, anger trying to cover up the desperation at the thought of his old home being destroyed.
“He does,” Meryl agreed, her smile losing its playful edge and sliding into something more fond.
She stretched out, joints popping and leaned over Vash to grab her notebook from the bedside table. He watched her quietly, feeling lazy and content even as anxiety prodded insistently at the corners of his mind. There were no questions yet, but there was also no telling when they’d come, and the uncertainty was almost worse.
Vash sighed and shifted closer to where Meryl was scribbling something on the already cluttered pages. He leaned his head on her arm to get a better look at the contents. Meryl took her eyes off of her work for a moment to send him a curious look but didn’t stop him, so he took that as a go ahead for the snooping.
The notebook was filled to the brim with photos and post it notes that stuck out from between the pages. The contents consisted mostly of Meryl’s barely legible chicken scratch detailing her work. Sketches of people’s faces next to interviewees that Vash assumed didn’t agree to a photo. Some of the places she’s visited. It looked disorganized and surprisingly messy, but Meryl seemed to have no trouble navigating it as she flipped through the pages, adding words on some and crossing out things on others. Vash caught a flash of his own name in several different entries but couldn’t really discern what most of them were about before the notebook was shut firmly.
Meryl put her pencil behind her ear. It looked incredibly endearing and Vash couldn’t quite help the smile that formed on his lips. Meryl looked down at him with a questioning look.
“What?” she asked with a smile of her own.
“Nothing,” he hummed. “Thank you for taking care of me.”
Meryl’s eyes went soft. “Of course,” she said, swiping again at the hair on his forehead. “Thank you for saving us back there.”
Vash closed his eyes as Meryl’s hand cradled through his hair, blunt nails scraping against his scalp.
“Are you going to ask?” he murmured quietly. There was that hum in his chest again, low and satisfied, and he let it continue, just below what should be audible to human ears.
Meryl’s fingers stilled in his hair for a second before continuing.
“Will you give me any actual answers?”
Vash didn’t respond. Meryl sighed above him and poked his side, not hard enough to hurt but just to get his attention. He cracked a single eye open to peek up at her. She was looking down at him with fond exasperation.
“You’re not off of the hook,” she said, firm but gentle. “Neither is Wolfwood. We need to talk about what happened on the Sandstreamer. But that can wait until we get some breakfast.” She frowned. “And until Roberto wakes up.”
“Did something happen?” Vash sat up in alarm, suddenly realizing the room was devoid of any signs of the other reporter.
Meryl rolled her eyes, patting at his shoulder to bring him back down. “No. He just got black-out drunk and is currently nursing a hangover. He’ll be fine.”
“Oh,” Vash slumped in relief. “Okay.”
Meryl climbed out of bed, leaving a warm spot where she had been laying. She grabbed her jacket and passed her hands through her hair a couple times to bring it back into some semblance of order. Vash watched her with a sullen expression, teeth worrying at his bottom lip. He sat at the edge of the bed, wrapping the covers around his shoulders
“You’re not scared of me?” he asked, voice tiny.
Meryl’s eyes jumped to him, and for a second her face was blank. Then her eyebrows scrunched up and she walked up to stand in front of him. Vash’s hand tightened on where it was holding onto his knee as she brought up a hand to his face and he remembered all the previous instances of people finding out about his true nature. His eyes fell closed and he braced for impact.
It never came. Instead, Meryl’s hands cupped his face, gentle, and Vash let out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. A thumb swiped under his eye where the beauty mark sat and Vash opened his eyes to see Meryl’s stern expression.
“I’m not scared of you,” she said, slow and deliberate, like she was trying extra hard to make it clear. “I am scared for you , of the situation you’re in. Because I don’t know what it is and you won’t tell me .” Her voice cracked at the end, a mixture of frustration and worry. She took a steadying breath and continued in a calmer tone, “But I am not scared of you, Vash.”
Vash swallowed, pulling the covers tighter around himself. “Okay,” he said and tried his best to believe her.
Meryl nodded with finality and let go of his face. He had to stop himself from chasing after the touch.
“Now then—” she said with ease that sounded only a bit forced, “—I am not missing my first coffee in months.” Meryl eyed the prosthetic that still lay on the nightstand. “Do you need any help with this?” she asked, uncertain.
“I can take care of it myself,” he reassured with a smile, still a touch sad at the eyes. “I’ll join you in a moment.”
Meryl eyed him suspiciously for a moment. “You better not try to make a run for it.”
Vash held up his hand in surrender, the covers sliding off of his back. “I won't, I swear!” he assured, even though he was thinking about doing exactly that some half an hour ago.
Meryl pinned him with her eyes and he smiled back at her innocently. She shot him one last warning look as she closed the door, but it was undermined by the corners of her mouth twitching up involuntarily.
Alone in the room, sitting in the bed still warmed by two other bodies who had shared it with him, Vash sighed out a shaky exhale as he reattached his prosthetic. Something like hope was blooming in his chest in the space where his heart would be, if he had one. He should crush it now, when it was still small and relatively harmless. Save himself and both of them a lot of heartache.
Instead, Vash shrugged on his coat, and let that feeling spur him on as he walked down the stairs, guided by the smell of freshly brewed coffee and familiar voices.