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The lighter sparked to life with only one flick. Wolfwood sighs in relief, lifting the small dancing flame to his cigarette as if it were as delicate as a butterfly. Just as he’s about to cup his hand—mostly out of habit— around the end, there is the sound of a gunshot.
In the same breath that the bullet meets his cigarette, Nicholas lets out a sigh. He had known it was going to happen, but it was still an annoyance that made his teeth grind.
“Seriously?” He asks, flickering dark eyes to the man walking towards him. Vash was dressed in his usual red coat as always, blond hair waving gently in the desert wind. “You couldn’t even let me have one drag?”
Though his gun was nowhere to be seen, Vash was the only one stupid enough to literally shoot something out of Nicholas D. Wolfwood’s mouth and not expect any consequences or accidental injuries.
“You heard the little lady.” Vash said, taking the final few steps to stand before his husband. “No more smoking. It’s bad for your lungs!”
Nick gnashed his teeth again, leaning against the large, cross-shaped gun that was behind him. Vash was, unfortunately, right. Their wife had strict orders for him not to smoke anymore largely out of concern for his health. He hadn’t the heart to tell her that his newfound powers would keep anything like cancer at bay, instead acquiescing to her and Vash’s whims than try to make the argument.
“Whatever,” He spits, turning his eyes to the ruined, ramshackle house before him. Within was hidden the Glass Gang, known for burning down any town they went through and turning the sand itself to glass in their wake. They preferred fire as their weapon of choice, and there was a bounty on them that could cover the bills for months. “At least I didn’t show up late.”
“Aw, c’mon, I just got a little held up.”
Wolfwood didn’t comment—with Vash, the excuse was probably literal.
He hoists his gun onto his shoulder, letting it sit there as he sauntered to the front door.
“Hey,” the man said, banging loudly at the door that held on by barely one hinge, “Come on out!”
“Could be a little more polite.” Vash sighs, but he stands there regardless, hovering over Nick’s shoulder like a worried hen.
Ever since they’d gotten married he had started doing that. He did it to their wife too, hovering, fidgetting, worrying about their health and how they felt. It was Vash’s way of showing how he cared, so Nick allowed it, and sometimes—only sometimes—he even found it cute. Their wife had told him that he needed to accept some things, like people caring about him, when they got married. Her words rang in his ears in moments like these.
It’s because he loves you, Wolfwood. Let him.
“Ain’t commin’ out!” A voice finally rings from inside.
He sighs. Sometimes he wished he’d just picked a different profession. Maybe being the town preacher would have been better, but it never really stuck and—if he were an honest man—he preferred sticking to Vash’s side. Otherwise, their wife would have done it and he didn’t think he could bare being the one at home taking care of things while she and their husband was out earning money.
Vash pipes up before Wolfwood can think of anything to say. “We have donuts!”
“Really?”
Nick raises a brow, looking to his husband. Vash is subtly shaking his head no.
So, it was a lie, then.
The voice inside responds all the same, “Then I guess I will!”
Nick has enough forethought to leap away from he door, grabbing Vash by the edge of his sleeve and hauling ass. Just as they get clear the slab of wood is kicked open— a burst of flames taking up the space where they had just stood.
Vash whines from beside them as they hit the sand. He looks over his shoulder to see a tall man—taller than even Vash— standing in the doorway. The gang-member held a huge flame thrower in his hands, complete with a large tank attached to the back of it, probably filled with some sort of fuel.
“What? No donuts for me!” The man says, a wide, hungry grin on his face, “Or are they all burnt?” Nick rolls his eyes but Vash chuckles, even if it is a little awkward.
“So,” His husband speaks from beside him as they both stand, dusting themselves off. “No way we can convince you to just turn yourselves in?”
“‘Fraid not.”
“Well, that stinks.” Vash sighs, “And here I told my wife that I wouldn’t get into any trouble today.”
“Our wife,” Wolfwood corrects, expression straight and unwavering.
The gang-member’s face crumples in confusion and discuss. “Your wife? What kind of woman would marry you two assholes?”
Nicholas lifts the Punisher, taking aim for the tank of fuel, but Vash stops him with a firm hand on the end of his gun.
“Now, now, no need to go insulting us.”
The man chuckles. Nicholas’ frown deepens. One more stupid word and he was going to be eating lead.
“Nah, I won’t insult you anymore. But I am gonna make your little lady at home eat your ashes!”
He lifts his flame thrower. Vash dodges out of the way, rolling to the man’s side while Wolfwood goes the other way both of them are flanking him but as they get into position gun fire erupts from the house. The rest of the gang was joining the party.
Fine by him.
Wolfwood strafes with the weight of his weapon on his shoulder, letting bullets strip through the house’s walls. He knew Vash didn’t want anyone killed, and he didn’t want to disappoint his husband, but it was better to lay down covering fire and risk maiming someone than get killed themselves. Their wife would never forgive them if the both of them didn’t come back in one piece.
Vash, for his part, acclimates quickly to the new scenario and moves to be behind the large man. Unwilling to fire at—what seems to be—their boss, or to get hit themselves, the gang-members stop firing, probably to attempt to repossession themselves.
Their leader growls deep in the back of his throat, trying to swing around to set Vash ablaze but Wolfwood’s husband is too fast, and manages to stay behind him as he swings from side to side.
“Get back here you little freak!”
“No thanks! I don’t wanna end up roasted!”
“Fight fair damnit!”
“Nope!”
As the two of them continue to bicker, Wolfwood makes his way into the house. There are five other gang members and all of them are scrawny, hungry men who aren’t very hard to take down now that their cover is gone and their boss is preoccupied. After tying them up with rope as one big group he emerges from the house again.
Vash has his hands raised, a simpering smile on his face as the boss points the nozzle of his flame-thrower at the other man.
“Got you now!”
Wolfwood sighs, rolling his eyes. “When are you going to stop playing with him?”
The boss smiles wide, eyeing him. “What? So you want me to roast your husband right in front of your eyes!”
“Wasn’t talking to you.”
The man’s face crumples in confusion, but it’s Vash who speaks next. “Oh, I was just gonna let him get this out of his system first.”
With a click the gang-member attempts to light his weapon. Then another click. And another.
Click. Click. Click.
It’s only now that he realizes the tank of fuel is long gone, Vash having gotten rid of it long before Wolfwood even went into the house.
“W-What?!”
“Sorry buddy, couldn’t let you go around setting people on fire!”
Before the man can say anything more, he’s on the ground and his hands are tied behind his back.
Another long breath leaves Nicholas and he grabs for his cigarettes without thinking. He barely has time to put it in his mouth before a gunshot rings out, knocking it away once again.
“God damnit blondie!”
“Hey! Wifey’s orders!”