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Vash is soft.
Yes, he’s soft in the head, Wolfwood could confirm, he’d seen it on countless occasions now. What with how easily Vash caved for the wants of those grubby street urchins and the whim of any pretty lady who glanced at him longer than a few seconds. It’s easy to label him stupid.
And despite what his carved figure of lean muscle and scar may tell… Vash was soft physically too.
Or well, the bits of him he had left were.
Wolfwood watches with interest as Vash uncouples the cybernetic arm and sinks into his chair adjacent to his own. The stumped limb looks chafed and red. He’d ask if he’s okay, but he thinks his words are swallowed alongside the one that wants to ask about the giant gnarled scar consuming one entire side of his abdomen.
Yeah, the chafing is probably the least of Vash’s issues.
It’s a topic they’ve never discussed, surprisingly, given how most men boast about their scars, their feats of war.
Yet there comes a point where such scarring, to a degree like this, is not a show of bravery or some heroic feat… but rather more simply, what it really was; an old wound.
Wounds that would have likely taken possibly months to heal, wounds that Vash had likely stitched back together himself, some still bearing the wonky stitches. And those metal plates were likely bored into the bone to hold the mottled flesh together.
It’s not pretty. Wolfwood’s not sappy like that, so no, it’s not pretty. It shouldn’t be pretty.
It’s hideous. To be frank. But he’s not a horrible enough person to say it aloud, not when the remains of Vash’s skin gleam out beneath it all like an ode to former scarless glory, to younger times Wolfwood had not been lucky enough to see.
He can’t picture a younger Vash though, because he doubts there’s much difference between the man before him now and someone a few years ago… probably the same moron just with a fresher coat of paint.
Instead, he takes another long drag of his cigarette to suffocate his curiosity and draws his eyes up to Vash’s openly exhausted expression.
They’d done another long day of travelling to reach this town, with a few hiccups along the way… always something interesting happening with Vash around.
Wolfwood thinks it has something to do with his disgustingly placid smile and his happy-go-lucky punchable atmosphere.
He and Vash don’t always talk a lot, sometimes choosing merely to travel together for companionship- the non-hostile company was comforting in a way.
Though tonight Wolfwood was inclined to speak up. So after much careful delineation, he found some words; “Is it ever annoying?”
Vash looks up, and Wolfwood finds it his cue to continue his question, “Not having a second arm?”
Vash’s soft green eyes paused momentarily to stare blankly, before darting to the mentioned stub. “Ah! N-no not really! It happened so long ago, I can’t remember what it was like… but I have the robotic one now so really, it’s fine. Not a hassle at all, haha!”
Wolfwood looks at the mentioned arm lying on the table. Freakishly realistic, had he not seen it before like this, he might’ve felt sweat gather below his collar at the sight.
He lets his cigarette rest between his fingertips, ignoring the way it smouldered dangerously closer to his fingers.
“How are you?” he asks. Blurted from heaven knows where, a set of words he’d been afraid to speak in Vash’s strangely optimistic and blinding presence.
Typhoon was right; he was a whirlwind far too fast for you to catch, physically or in conversation he whisked you by before you could so much as formulate a thought. Never in one place for long.
Yet here he sat, softened by a shower, his usual spiked hair now lain flat and the sharp outlines of his heavy coat are warped with the unfamiliar open nightshirt, hinting at the marred skin beneath.
Vash seems to pause at these words, caught off guard by them momentarily- if Wolfwood could be confident enough to read his expressions by now, that is.
Then “What do you mean?” Vash cheerfully replies. Though Wolfwood had seen that sliver of hesitation. The crack Vash did well at hiding.
“Emotionally,” Wolfwood decides to blunder as he takes a last drag of his cigarette and stamps it out on the sole of his shoe, “you… you’ve lost a few friends recently. How are you?”
Vash’s smile crumples slightly at the edges, though it holds strong the foundations of it visibly give a tremble, “It’s as you said; it was bound to happen… it’s best not to dwell on the past, and focus instead on the present and the future. What I can do now is all that matters.”
Wolfwood grimaces, “It… you should still have time to grieve. What I said back there… it was insensitive.”
The human typhoon lets out a gentle chuckle, his eyes cast out the window of the small abode they’d chosen to occupy for the night, “If I were to do that, we’d never get anywhere.”
He goes to respond but finds himself silenced beneath Vash’s gaze. It’s unlike his usual look, what with the half mast of his emerald eyes, the way his expression broods like a thunderous storm, melancholy but not vicious.
Tired .
“Wolfwood,” he murmurs, “I’m fine.”
Vash is definitely not fine.
Wolfwood watches the way he curls in on himself that night, clutching the sheets so tightly they threaten to tear, the way his body shakes so wholly in the depths of sleep. He’d never seen Vash asleep like this before, then again he doesn’t know if he’d cared enough to watch- he wasn’t a creep after all.
But listening to the way he whimpered in his sleep was distracting, okay?
Wolfwood may think the guy is a bonehead most of the time, but he wasn't enough of a monster to think such a noise from a fully grown man wasn’t at least a little pitiful.
He sighed, staring at the ceiling for a while as Vash’s hiccups continued for quite a while through the night. What a roommate.
During the time Wolfwood was finally drifting back off to sleep he hears the hitch in their breath and hopes that maybe they were both blessed with some sleep for the night. But alas, the next few minutes prove otherwise.
Loud crying. Okay, that's new.
Wolfwood blinked blearily at the ceiling and grumbled, before pulling the covers off and wandering over to their bed where Vash was now thrashing in the throws of a nightmare. He was covered in a sheen of sweat, tears pouring down his face as he fisted at the pillows to his chest.
Each breath he draws heaves his frame in a series of jolts and shakes so violently it threatens to toss him off the bed. His mouth hung open in ragged pants and cries as his head lolled uselessly in his fitful sleep.
Wolfwood had seen plenty of children at the orphanage in the same situation. And so, thoughtlessly, he placed himself down on the edge of their bed and sighed again for the second time of the night before patting their shoulder.
Maybe he ought to have been more cautious, given Vash was now labelled as an act of god, and destruction was in his name. But Wolfwood wholly hadn’t considered it.
No. Not when he looked as small as he did right now.
He lights himself a cigarette as he continues to rub along their back. The surface beneath the shirt is filled with strange divots and raised sections of scar tissue, only faintly seen through the sweaty sheen of the white nightshirt.
Wolfwood can only wonder where half of them came from, and how long they’d taken to heal. Or if they'd healed at all, physically, or emotionally.
Vash continues to tremor in his sleep, his breath coming out in quick fearful pants as Wolfwood silently offers him comfort by brushing back his hair. “You’re a mess, look at you.”
He inhales the smoke and blows it out away from the sleeping man, “Out of everyone here, you’re the one who needs sleep the most. Who’s gonna keep everyone alive, hm?”
He stares out the window towards the main building across the way, where he knows Meryl, Milly and the children are sleeping for the night.
He wonders if they’d heard Vash’s sharp cry this late into the night. Wonders if anyone had ever heard it- or if they’d cared enough to heed it.
“Some crazy hero complex you have Vash the Stampede. But hey,” he looks back down to see their lip scrunched in a grimace, “it at least does some good.”
He ruffles the soft blonde hair, “You’re a good guy.”
Vash’s expression seems to soften amicably at the words. The tension slowly bled out of him as his sobs subdue into soft hiccups and jerks the more Wolfwood indulges in the soft strands of blonde hair threaded between his fingers.
It takes some effort not to laugh at the effect his words have, “If you were awake I’m sure you’d never let me live those words down. So don’t let me regret saying them here…" then with a melancholic puff of smoke, he murmurs into the night, in a tone like that in a confessional booth; "you’ve got too big a heart spikey.”
Vash’s tears still leak down his face, but at least his squirming has stopped. His expression still scrunches occasionally, with his lips moving into wordless whispers, far too faint for Wolfwood to care to listen.
He can only placate him by patting his back, letting the soft hits lull Vash finally into a full soft-bodied state.
Well… at least that’s over, but now Wolfwood is stuck wide awake.
Knowing he won’t get back to sleep for another few hours, he reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out a small booklet, the front of it embroiled with a thick dent and a holy cross.
He undoes its cover and begins to read, letting his cigarette hang from his lips carelessly as he reads.
“Where’s Vash and Wolfwood?” Meryl asks when she wakes up to see Milly playing with the children. They’re hanging off her arms and running laps around her when she looks up with a bright smile, “Mr Vash and Mr Wolfwood are still in their room!”
“Those lazy guys…” Meryl grits her teeth, “make sure to get the bags ready Milly! We need to leave soon, before noon or else we’ll be stuck in the dark!”
“Aww, do we have to leave so soon?”
The children cheer in agreed protest, clinging to Milly’s legs as they squeak and squawk.
Meryl’s expression softens, “I know… I’m sorry, but we will be back as soon as we can- and we can bring you all more food!” she bends down to consult an upset-looking child, “better yet we can try contact our agency and see if we can find somewhere more suitable for you to stay… I’m sure we can pull some strings.”
The kids look excited at the prospect, “Really?!”
Meryl nods. She’ll do whatever she can to get these kids into safer hands. “Really. Now Milly, why don’t you get these kids to help us pack? I’ll go and get Vash and Wolfwood.”
Milly nods, holding up a thumb as the children excitedly begin to squabble around her tall frame, “Okay senpai!”
The residence Vash and Wolfwood had decided to sleep in where across the way from the main building- it jutted out from the sand-swept outcropping in an inelegant bricked upwards sprawl. Akin to that of a castle tower, but lacking the suave, what with its half-crumbled walls and dented staircase.
Just another example of the abandoned buildings found out here, Meryl supposes- fascinating really, with how many there were.
She heard the shrill cries of excitable children across the courtyard, running around shoeless and wild, eyes filled with excitable glee as they got distracted from their tasks to instead play a game of tag.
Smiling as she looked down upon the display she slowly made her way to the topmost step and opened the door. Vash and Wolfwood were typically awake far before everyone else.
Usually. At least.
But today, she’s met with a shocking sight.
The room is sparse, with nowhere else for her eyes to land but the uncomfortably slumped figure of Wolfwood sat half upright in bed, and Vash clinging with all four limbs to Wolfwood’s legs and torso.
She pauses there for a moment, absorbing the sight of these two ferocious men, whose gunmen abilities are on another level and finds herself holding back a laugh. Wolfwood, clearly uncomfortable, has formed a deep grimace as he half-heartedly attempts to wriggle free, in turn forcing Vash to cling tighter, grumbling in equal annoyance.
Meryl holds a small hand over her mouth to contain a laugh and decides to close the door. Holding her breath as the lock slipped back into place, she allowed herself to chuckle into a manic fret as she scaled the stairs back down to Milly and the children who glanced up at her return.
“What did you find so funny? Are Vash and Wolfwood coming?” Milly asked, her eyes bright and curious as always. Meryl used her reliable shoulder as a brace while she giggled herself silly, “N-nothing,” she snorted, “I think… we should stay another day.”
The kids gasped, happy and surprised, “Really?! You’ll stay another day!?!”
“Yeah…” Meryl said, finally swallowing her laughter back into a placid smile.
“Will Vash come out and play with us?” one of the younger girls asked while holding up a toy, “ Woofwoof made dis for me! I wanna show Vash!”
Meryl’s smile twitched at the mispronunciation of Wolfwood’s name, incredibly amused by the mistake, she hadn’t the heart to correct it, “They’re both sleeping, why don’t you show me and Milly instead? Did Wolfwood really make it?”
The girl’s eyes brightened, as she held up the toy, much to the mystification of the other children around her, “Okay!”