Chapter Text
"So what exactly are we doing here?" Vash pokes his head around the corner of the abandoned warehouse again, curious, and Wolfwood yanks him back by the collar of his coat so hard Vash gags a little.
"Not stickin' our fuckin' heads out to get noticed, dumbass," Wolfwood hisses, gripping his hand around the back of Vash's neck like he's a misbehaving kitten.
"I didn't read the bounty bill!" Vash tries to elbow out at Wolfwood and fails to make contact, so he crosses his arms and goes still instead.
Eyes of Michael may be ten times stronger than a normal human, but Vash could still break Wolfwood's hold as easy as blinking. He doesn't, though. The heavy weight of Wolfwood's big hand on his neck is sort of nice - He doesn't get touched a lot unless he's being shot at or stabbed, and the fact that he's finding solace in being scruffed like a cat is kind of pathetic.
Oh, well, Vash thinks as Wolfwood sighs, a faint growl of annoyance slipping from his throat.
"I slipped it under your door to read two nights ago."
"Oh, is that what that was? I thought it was a room service menu so I threw it away."
"Motels don't fuckin' have room service!"
"I know, that's why I thought it was so weird!"
Wolfwood shoves him into the wall then and Vash makes a sound somewhere between a squeak and a cough from the sudden movement, air he didn't need to breathe forced out of his lungs.
"When I agreed to let you come along I was under the impression you were gonna take this seriously, not fuck around."
Vash holds up his hands in mock-surrender, laughing a little as he shrugs, despite Wolfwood's forearm braced across his chest holding him against the wall.
"The way I remember it I didn't actually ask, you offered, because you're such a nice guy and you were enraptured by my sense of humor and -"
Footsteps.
Vash shuts his mouth immediately and hooks his arm around Wolfwood's middle, spinning them around so Wolfwood is behind him, Vash in front, his other arm stretched out to keep him back against the wall. Wolfwood seems momentarily stunned into silence at how easily Vash maneuvered out of his hold, and Vash takes the opportunity to put his prosthetic finger to his lips, whispering so faintly only Wolfwood could be able to hear.
"Shhh."
Vash's head cocks to the side, one pointed ear angling towards the sound - The footsteps are coming closer. Wolfwood must hear them now too, because he struggles against Vash and makes to lunge for the Punisher propped against the wall, but Vash pins him to the wall with a single arm, shooting him a glare that either pisses him off or shocks so badly he stops fighting.
"That's our vamp. I can sense her Beast. She's nearly gone to it."
Wolfwood's hand twitches toward his jacket pocket where Vash knows he keeps the vials of holy water, and Vash grabs his wrist and bends it back behind his back, voice strained.
"No. Let me talk to her."
Wolfwood gapes at him and really starts struggling then, managing to kick Vash in the ankle so hard it briefly stuns him and he gets his arms free, and he goes right for the Punisher, and Vash throws himself in front of it, arms outstretched.
"Let me talk to her! I can help her."
Wolfwood laughs then, low and dangerous, baring his teeth in a snarl as he shoves Vash out of the way, going to unwrap his gun.
"I'm not gonna let you talk to her so you can help her escape. This bloodsucker's been killin' all over this territory for the past month. I've got a mag with her name on it."
Vash's eyes widen and he slams his palm on the trigger of the Punisher, blocking Wolfwood from inserting his fingers into the dials, ignoring how his skin starts smoking even under his glove from contact with the blessed metal.
"Did you even bother to map out her path, see where she's running? She's trying to get away. People are following her. She's trying to run to the desert, make it into the badlands where the covens are. She just wants to be left alone."
Wolfwood gives Vash a look filled with such fury it could melt through steel. "You did read the bounty bill."
Vash slowly moves his hand off the Punisher, the feeling of his melted flesh knitting back together so familiar to him he doesn't even flinch.
"Let me talk to her. Let me try. Please, Wolfwood."
Wolfwood grits his teeth so hard Vash sees a muscle in his jaw jump, and for a moment, he thinks he may grab the Punisher and leap around the corner anyway like Vash never spoke.
Wolfwood's brown eyes lock onto Vash's blues, and Vash slowly lowers his arms from the motion of surrender, curling his hands together in front of his chest, like he's pleading, like he's praying.
"You talk about savin' everyone - You just don't wanna get your own hands dirty."
Vash ignores the dig, despite the flush it brings to his cheeks, somewhere between annoyance at Wolfwood's lack of faith in him and anger at how quickly he'd give up.
"Fuckin' fine, if you're gonna throw a fit about it. You get one chance. If she makes to bolt I'm paintin' the fuckin' walls with her brains and I don't care if I hit you in the process."
Vash's shoulders slump in relief then and he smiles, he can't help it, a soft grin playing at the corners of his mouth as his head tilts, looking over Wolfwood like there's a secret hidden behind his dark eyes.
"Wolfwood..."
"Shut up," Wolfwood shoves Vash between the shoulders, voice pitching lower as he shifts his grip on the Punisher, ready to fire at a moment's notice. "I think she hears us."
Vash's ears laser in on the footsteps that have now stopped, and he gives Wolfwood a quick smile that seems to say wish me luck! that the priest responds to with a middle finger.
Vash edges around the corner, hands up to show he's not a threat, a soft smile on his face as he steps forward into the debris-strewn alley between the buildings, into a shaft of moonlight.
There's a young girl who couldn't have been much older than seventeen when she was frozen forever in time crouched at the end of the alley. Her head whips around lightning-fast as Vash's footsteps crack over broken glass and planks of wood, her claws poised in self-defense. Her clothes are torn and covered in old blood and sand, her face smeared in dirt and bloody tear tracks, the slit pupils of her eyes catching the light like a predator. Her hair hangs in lank tatters around her gaunt face, and Vash can see the vibrant, coppery red color it used to be through the thick streaks of coal-black running through it - Telltale signs of giving in to the Beast.
Wolfwood was right. She's nearly gone. But she's still trying to run, to get away, to escape civilization and head into the deep desert where she couldn't hurt anyone. There's still a person in there.
"Hey, little sister," Vash murmurs.
He squats down slowly, lowering his arms when she doesn't strike immediately, and he extends a hand to her, moving carefully and hesitantly like he's coaxing a wounded animal.
"What's your name?" Vash asks quietly, and as he speaks, the vampiric markings on his skin start to shimmer as he wills them into view, the soft white glow throwing patterns over the dark alley walls. "I'm Vash."
The girl doesn't even look at his hand, so focused as she is on his face, her lips parted as she follows the lines of the markings, over his cheeks, nose, pointed ears, down his neck into his high collar.
"Abel," she croaks, and flinches a little at the biblical significance, huddling further into the dingy corner she's hidden herself in.
Vash smiles a little and nods, shrugging one shoulder. "That's what the Church calls me. Did you used to go to church a lot? Not everyone knows that name."
The girl nods, and Vash relaxes a little - There's still enough of her here to have a conversation, even if she can't say much. It's a good sign. It's a great sign.
"I'd like to be friends, but we can't be unless you tell me your name. You know two of mine already."
Vash slowly lowers his hand when he sees she isn't going to take it and props his arms on his knees, still squatted down, head tilting with a soft smile as if they're having a conversation over drinks and not in a dark, bloodstained alley.
The girl swallows hard - She must be a recent Turn, if she's still hanging onto human habits like that - and Vash bites his lip as he hears the rasp of the swallow, like sandpaper scratching over rock at how dry her throat must be.
"Ruth."
Vash feels a surge of hope that she remembers her name, even as far gone as she is, and his smile grows, still soft, his eyes crinkling up.
"That's such a pretty name. From the Book of Ruth?"
Ruth nods, her claws twitching suspiciously as Vash shifts from his squat to sit down in front of her, crossing his legs comfortably, paying no attention to how dirty his coat and boots are getting.
"Have you ever heard the hymn about Ruth?"
Ruth stares at him, her eyes bloodshot, the sclera almost completely black, but Vash thinks her eyes may have been green once, green like spring grass.
Vash hears the shifting of feet behind him and mentally he wills Wolfwood to stay where he is, to stay hidden, to not make another noise, to let him have this.
"One day Naomi and Ruth crossed the border, leaving a life filled with sorrow and pain. Cautious yet hopeful they journed together, bravely they sought to start over again."
Vash begins to sing quietly, the words of the hymn leaving a faint taste of ash in his mouth. He taps out a tempo softly on his knee as he continues the song, eyes closing as he remembers another voice singing to him, so many centuries ago, as he lay in his crib on the Project Eden ship.
"What would we do if our loved ones had perished? What if we found we were hungry and poor? What would we do if the things we had cherished - Family and safety and hope - were no more? Would we remain in the land we had loved there? Would we stay home simply waiting to die? Or would we dare to cross over the border? Would we in faith give the journey a try?"
He hears the faint sound of sobbing, and he opens his eyes to Ruth still staring at him, the tension in her stance disappeared, tears of blood running down her dirty cheeks, her clawed hands pressed to her mouth to muffle the noise of her cries as he continues the hymn.
"Would there be folks in the land to receive us - Even if some said, 'You're not from this place'? Would we cross freely? Would others believe us? Would people greet us with kindness and grace? One day, Naomi and Ruth crossed the border, this day, we see streams of new refugees. God, you have called us to welcome the stranger; May we in love welcome people like these."
Vash finishes the hymn with a soft hum, swallowing down the burn the name of God causes in him, the glow of his markings having steadily brightened as he sang until they light the whole alley, brighter than the moon.
Ruth lets out a wail like a wounded animal as the wind takes the last stanza of the hymn. She runs towards Vash on all fours, and Vash can hear Wolfwood shifting into a fighting stance, hear the dial of the Punisher turning to firing position.
Vash just opens his arms and lets Ruth run straight into his embrace, nearly knocking him over from the force of her leap. He wraps his arms around her immediately, rocking her slowly as she sobs into his shoulder, the red blood of her tears fading against the red fabric of his coat.
"Shhh. Shhh, little sister, I got you." Vash kisses her matted hair as he rubs her back, his markings slowly melting back into his skin as he holds her, not caring about the blood, the dirt, the smell. "I got you."
Vash rests his chin on the top of her head as he slowly stands, carrying Ruth with him as he stands up, keeping her secure and safe against his chest.
Wolfwood looks as if he's just been slapped in the face, the Punisher slack at his side, lips slightly parted in shock. He's staring at Vash like he's something otherworldly, like he's something out of a dream, and he doesn't know what to do with himself in his presence. Vash meets his eyes and gives Wolfwood a little smile, a tired one, a hopeful one, that says more than any words he could come up with right now.
"Let's get you somewhere safe to get cleaned up, okay, Ruth?" Vash murmurs against her hair as he carries her past Wolfwood, keeping her close as he makes his way back to the bike.
Vash knows there's no way Ruth can't smell Wolfwood right now, and he wants to get her away from him as quick as he can, before the smell of his blood overpowers the weight of her grief.
"I'm going to run to the motel with her. Can you do a sweep of the area, make sure there's no hunters following us?"
Wolfwood simply nods, and Vash doesn't know if he's too stunned or too disgusted with him to speak, but he doesn't have the time to think about the consequences of either right now.
"Okay. I'll see you back at the motel." Vash pauses, head turning to look over his shoulder at Wolfwood, who's still staring at him, one hand in his pocket and one on the Punisher, looking like a statue of an archangel for how still he is in the moonlight. "And... Thank you, Wolfwood."
Vash smiles at him again, but he doesn't stick around to hear his response as he turns on his heel and takes off into the night, letting his vampiric speed carry him and his passenger safely across the desert, back to the little motel on the edge of the badlands.
•••
Ruth nearly loses control when Vash sneaks her into the motel, the scents of so many humans mingling together overwhelming, but he manages to get her inside and press one of his thermoses of blood into her hands before the threads holding her together fully snap. She drinks the whole thing down gratefully, and is much more subdued afterwards, despite how different Vash knows his bagged blood must taste compared to the fresh she's used to.
He helps her out of her ragged clothes and neatly deposits them in the sink, knowing he's definitely going to have to burn them later. He strips off his coat and boots and sits on the edge of the motel bathtub in his turtleneck and pants to help Ruth wash the blood and dirt from her hair, combing the tangles out with his fingers as she scrubs the rest of herself clean.
It takes four bars of soap to do the job, but by the time the water runs to the drain clear Ruth looks like a new person - Her pale, freckled skin free of grime and blood, her black-streaked copper hair devoid of mats and knots.
Vash fetches her a change of clothes from his bag - A simple pair of black jeans and a red T-shirt, too big for her but she pulls them on gratefully anyway, and Vash steers her away gently from the mirror when she flinches at her own reflection.
"Will it ever go away?" Ruth whispers in a rasp as Vash pushes another thermos into her hands that she drinks down gratefully.
Vash knows what she means as he takes in her void of her sclera, the stark black streaks of her hair, the red-threaded green of her irises. The signs of the Beast. Proof of the monstrous power lurking within every vampire.
"No," Vash murmurs softly as he tucks the covers around her chin after she finishes the second thermos, making sure the blackout tarp is fully stapled over the window. "The Beast changes us - Inside and out. You can't do anything to reverse it."
He sits down on the edge of the bed, patting her leg through the sheets as she frowns, the distressed look on her face fading as exhaustion begins to overtake her, sleep creeping in despite the moons still being high in the sky.
"We can't change what we did in the past. All we can do is look forward, and hope to do better the next chance we get." Vash smiles as he sees some of the despair leave Ruth's expression, and he exhales, breathing out even though he doesn't need to. "You've got a blank ticket to your future now, Ruth. What you do with it is up to you."
Rem's smiling face flashes through Vash's mind as Ruth drifts off to sleep, images of Rem lifting him up to the observation window to see the stars, picking flowers just for him, reading he and Nai stories from the Bible that wouldn't hurt them to hear.
Wolfwood knocks on the door right after Ruth falls asleep, just barely loud enough that Vash knows only he's be able to hear it. He shifts off the bed after making sure Ruth is well and truly lost to dreams, and slips out the door, leaning against the wall across from his room so as not to go far, looking up at Wolfwood standing with his arms crossed in front of him.
"You're a goddamn idiot," Wolfwood says in lieu of greeting, and Vash makes an undignified noise, crossing his own arms and frowning, bare foot scuffing over the stone floor of the motel hall.
"Hello to you too."
"Shut up," Wolfwood grits his teeth, his hand coming up to slam against the wall by Vash's head, and Vash is suddenly grateful he decided not to stand by his door. "Are you really so damn naive? Underestimatin' a blood-starved vamp like that? One wrong move and she could have ripped your head off, that far gone to the Beast."
Vash frowns then, his posture stiffening as he straightens up, arms crossing tighter over his chest.
"You're wrong," he states sternly, brows furrowing hard, jaw rolling in the beginnings of annoyance, of sadness at Wolfwood's words. "She wouldn't have struck. She wasn't looking for a fight, she was just scared and hungry and hurting."
Wolfwood scoffs at that, shoving off the wall and rolling his eyes, pulling a cigarette out of the pack in his pocket to light, taking a hard drag and blowing the smoke in Vash's face like he's trying to rile him up.
Vash scrunches his nose a little but doesn't otherwise react, which seems to piss Wolfwood off even more than a cough or a sneeze would have.
"Don't screw with me, flatliner."
Vash's eyebrows raise practically into his hairline at the insult, a faint laugh escaping his throat.
"Wow. That's an old one, I haven't been called that in a few decades."
Wolfwood ignores him as he paces in front of him, gesturing towards Vash with his cigarette, teeth bared in anger.
"She could have had her claws at your throat in seconds the way your guard was down like that."
"So?" Vash challenges, rising up to his full height, hands balling into fists at his sides as he rounds on Wolfwood, getting up in his space, challenging him right back. "Maybe she would have. I would have just dodged, as many times as I had to. It's better than just killing her and taking away her second chance!"
Wolfwood growls at that and grabs Vash by the front of his shirt, pushing him up against the wall, shaking him hard enough Vash feels like his brains are rattling around in his skull.
"Cut the crap, you damn hypocrite! One of these days you're gonna have to make a choice. You're not gonna have the luxury of sittin' on your ass and playin' youth pastor to every lost fledgling that makes cow eyes at you every damn time."
Wolfwood laughs then, no humor in it, all gunsmoke and fired bullets, and he grabs Vash's flesh-and-bone wrist, pulling it to his throat and pressing down so Vash's carefully trimmed claws make divots in his skin.
"If you really are so naive, you may as well rip my damn throat out now and just get it over with. You can take on the role of the devil, then, instead of playactin' like you're some kind of angel. That way you won't hesitate to act the next time someone threatens your pathetic existence."
Vash's eyes widen and he tries to pull his hand back, but Wolfwood's grip is iron. Vash can smell the little pinpricks of blood welling up under his nails from how hard Wolfwood is holding his hand to his throat, hear the rasp in his voice from his airway being constricted.
"It's a small price to pay if you stop thinkin' you're some kind of saint who can go around smilin' and wavin' your way out of life-or-death situations. Stupid fuckin' way to live, are you really that damn arrogant?"
Vash's hand trembles and he squirms his wrist, trying to break free, but even if he used his supernatural strength the way Wolfwood is holding him would just cause more damage if he yanked away, tear open ribbons of scarlet across his throat.
"You can't do it, can you? Fuckin' coward." Wolfwood lets out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a snarl as he shoves Vash's hand away, his own going to the packet of vials in his jacket, no doubt to mend the new wounds on his neck.
Vash catches his wrist in a grip so tight Wolfwood can't even bend his fingers, and when Wolfwood snaps his head up to him in a fury, he falters at how Vash's eyes are red and wet with tears, a single drop of blood spilling from the corner to trace down his cheek.
"You are the coward here, Wolfwood."
Wolfwood's eyes widen as Vash curls his fingers around his wrist, forcing his hand back to his side, away from his jacket pocket. Vash meets his gaze and refuses to look away, his voice pitched low from how close they are, barely audible over the ragged, angry sound of Wolfwood's breathing.
"No matter what you do you give up all hope so easily." Vash's voice is sad, and something in his chest aches when he sees his words hit Wolfwood like an open palm to the face, causing him to flinch and rip his wrist from his touch.
"I'm not the one who doesn't know when to quit!"
Wolfwood hisses as he backs Vash up against the wall again, something Vash is beginning to recognize as a knee-jerk defense mechanism - The instinct to make yourself the biggest person in the room, the scariest, the most angry. The instinct to wear your rage and fear and pain like armor, so the spikes drive into anyone who gets too close.
"You say that," Vash whispers as he wipes the bloody tearstain off his cheek, his voice stabilizing as he takes in an unnecessary breath, brows furrowing hard. "But you look so hurt. So alone. I hear how fast your heart's beating, I can smell your fear. Are you that afraid to trust people?"
"Shut up," Wolfwood says lowly, his heartbeat racing even harder, pounding out a war drum in Vash's ears. "You don't know anythin' about me. You're just some delusional bloodsucker who thinks he can change the world by makin' everyone hold hands and sing nursery rhymes."
Vash shrugs at that, rubbing his hand on his pants leg, streaking the black fabric with Wolfwood's blood.
"Maybe I am. So what? You know what you are?"
Wolfwood grabs a fistful of Vash's shirt, his pupils blown wide in anticipation of a fight, his breath coming in short pants of fury.
"I don't give a fuck what you think I am."
Vash continues anyway, looking into the fathomless depths of Wolfwood's brown eyes, so dark they're almost black, and he sees the hurt there, the pain, the fear, the loneliness - He sees them because they're a reflection of his own eyes, his own pain. Looking into Wolfwood's eyes is like looking into a mirror, one that shows an image so similar but so different from himself.
"You're a man forcing himself to play the Devil. I hear your heart, Wolfwood. It's crying out. It knows this isn't who you are."
Wolfwood draws away from him and for a moment Vash thinks he may haul off and punch him, but he doesn't. He just stumbles back, a look on his face between horror and rage, gritting his teeth hard enough they audibly grind together.
"You don't know shit about who I am."
Vash reaches out and softly touches the bleeding wounds on Wolfwood's neck from his own nails, his hand shaking slightly from anger, sadness, the heat of the argument.
"Because you won't let me."
Wolfwood goes quiet at that as Vash draws his hand back, face screwing up in confusion as Vash licks his fingertips and then softly swipes them over the wounds, watching them close up slowly, the flesh knitting back together.
Wolfwood jerks away from his touch, hand flying to his throat as if he's been burned, his chest heaving from heavy breaths.
"I'm going to take Ruth out to a coven run by some friends of mine in the badlands tomorrow at moonrise. Are you going to come with me?"
Wolfwood hesitates, his hand dropping from his neck as he glances at the door to Vash's room, like he expects a monster to burst out at any moment, all teeth and claws and bloodlust.
"No." Wolfwood states, voice hard.
Vash's shoulders drop immediately, and he fights down the stabbing ache in his chest at the thought of being alone again. It shouldn't hurt. He's been alone for so long. It's how he was meant to be - A fugitive and a wanderer didn't deserve constant companionship, didn't deserve a second set of footprints in the sand beside his own.
"... I'll wait here 'til moonset. If you're not back by then I'm leavin', with or without you."
Vash blinks as a bubble of hope blooms in his chest, the warmth of possibility spreading over the sharp chill of loneliness, and he smiles. He can't help it.
"Okay," Vash says simply, and Wolfwood turns on his heel to stalk back down the hall to his room, slamming the door behind him without a second glance back.
•••
The next night, Vash returns from the desert just as the moons begin to dip low in the sky.
Ruth is safe with the coven, the little pocket of vampires and humans both living deep underground in the badlands. Luida had promised to take good care of her, and Vash knew she would.
Vash slows his run to a halt as the neon 'vacancy' sign of the motel blinks into view, and his step feels lighter as he sees the familiar silhouette leaning against the building, the cherry-red tip of Wolfwood's cigarette illuminating the slight frown on his face as Vash approaches him.
"Hey," Vash says softly, stopping a few feet from him, fingers curling in the strap of his bag.
"We're leavin' at moonrise tomorrow," Wolfwood responds, tossing the cigarette to the ground and stubbing it out with the toe of his shoe. "I want this place in my fuckin' rearview before the hunters roll in for cleanup."
Wolfwood rolls his shoulders as he peels himself off the wall, walking back to his room with his hands in his pockets. Vash thinks for a moment he'll walk straight past him, but he stops when their shoulders brush, and Wolfwood glances back at him, jaw set.
"...Welcome back, needle-noggin."
He strides forward to his room without another word, and Vash can't stop smiling until he crawls into bed at sunrise and lets sleep take him at last.