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Vash didn’t know why it’s taken so long to get used to his reflection. It wasn’t unusual- humans dyed their hair all the time. His hair was basically the same it’d always been, sticking straight up in a cartoonish tuft that people, past and present, loved to point out and gawk at. It was just… darker, now. Jet black, in fact. Like night and day; the sun and moon; the inevitability of sunset.
It’d been a long time since he’d truly seen himself in the mirror. After seeing the face for a century and a half, it was only natural that it’d lose its uniqueness (as handsome as he might be!). Sometimes, if he thought too hard, he’d study it, trying to find something he lost long ago; he’d look at the way his cheeks flush, the twitching of his eyes as he watches himself, all replicas of human behavior. They almost got it right, he thought, the layer of humanity’s likeness that covers the natural disaster that he is on the inside.
Well, that he was. He’s not blonde anymore, but that’s not the only thing that’s changed. He really expected to die in the final fight with Knives- part of him thinks that maybe they both should have, or maybe just him, but how cruel it would be to leave his brother alone for the very first time- but he didn’t. Instead, he traded in his powers; his selfhood, as far as being an independent plant went. No more connections to angels or acts of God- he was just… human, now. Maybe if they dissected him, they’d still find remnants of what he used to be- but that was no longer useful to him.
Not that his powers had been useful to him in any positive way. Well- no- that was complicated. There had been times it’d helped others, and so much of his identity was carved out from others’ perception that maybe those times could mean something to him. But it was in the past now, anyways, and though it constantly bubbled beneath the surface, Vash didn’t much enjoy dwelling on complicated feelings like that.
But maybe that was why his reflection became so much more jarring than it once was. Because it wasn’t your average dye job- it was a reminder of everything he’d lost (or gained, through being closer to humanity).
The only thing he’d lost that he could fully mourn was Knives. Not that he was dead- he was still out there, somewhere. Maybe growing and changing as a person, waiting for the day when he could find his brother and they could reconnect. Forever had always been a harsh word, especially for immortals. He was sure they’d meet again. They always did.
The other option- that Knives was truly finished with him, and would start his own path anew- was more than just sad. It was terrifying; unthinkable. Vash didn’t think about it too hard. At least, he tried not to.
Knives’ hair was black, too, last time they’d been together. Did he also get spooked by his own reflection? That was something else they could’ve bonded over where nobody else’s experiences could compare. Another thing to add to the list.
But it wasn’t all doom and gloom- really. Because after he got done showering and doing his hair in the morning, after he spent a few minutes watching himself in the mirror to test if the reflections still matched, there was someone waiting for him.
Nobody had been surprised when he and Meryl got hitched. Meryl had insisted that it was for tax purposes- they’d already been living together, so it was just easier, she explained as her face turned several shades of red- and, to her credit, she was at least partially right. Their relationship wasn’t really strictly romantic; the only reason they’d even had a formal wedding with invitations and cake (and booze) had been because Vash wanted it so damn bad. Even then, though, that was just because he liked parties.
If he was honest, Vash wasn’t sure if he could give his all to someone like that. To anyone. He’d lived for so long, and his heart had been bruised so badly, and it felt like something galaxies away to be able to commit to anything or anyone. But Meryl was a cut above the rest in that she understood that and accepted whatever he gave anyways.
Vash wasn’t really sure if taxes and insurance had become easier for the both of them, because Meryl always handled that, but it was… nice, admittedly, to make a promise he knew he could keep. That he would live with her and be good to her for as long as they made it- that was something he could do, now that he wasn’t busy chasing down ghosts.
Well- maybe he didn’t chase after them, but he let them linger.
When they’d gotten married, they’d visited Wolfwood’s grave, too, just to tell him the news. In the time he’d known Wolfwood, he’d known that he hadn’t much believed in a concept of eternity, either, and Vash rested easy knowing Wolfwood would be more than happy just knowing the former was even still alive and at peace somewhere. With or without him. Meryl didn’t know him as well as Vash did, but she was there, at least, and it felt easier to mourn in company. Loneliness was a debatably unnecessary pinch of salt in the wound.
Not that it mattered too terribly much- he visited on his own all the time. Or with Livio, when he was in town.
And he hung out with Livio in ways that weren’t horribly saddening, too, because he was still the fun-loving Vash he’d always been. The difference, though, was that neither felt the need to pull any kind of performance for the other- sometimes they shared pensive silence more than drinks or jabs.
Meryl was his rock- that much would always be true- but Livio would get him in a way nobody else could. Yes, they were both close to Wolfwood and missed him terribly, and that was something they could bond over, but more than that, they were as close as Vash could be to any human. Maybe they’d had the same stardust sprinkled between the two of them.
They’d both done terrible things. Unforgivable, depending on who you asked to tell the story. Terrible, horrible things, done because of situations completely out of their control- and, when they were in control, their own simmering bitterness. To be a good person- on this planet or anywhere else in the cosmos- was to make an active choice, every day, complete with its own fallout and consequences. Redemption was not an easy task.
And Livio didn’t sit there and say- “oh, Vash, you really are a good person, so it’s time to accept what happened and move on”. He just… understood, and stayed by his side. Every time he visited- in between months of traveling and carving out his own path- was a breath of fresh air.
And Milly was- well- delightfully herself, as always. Vash had always hoped she wouldn’t outgrow it and trade it for some watered-down old lady version of herself, and thank God she hadn’t. She and Meryl were definitely still a thing, and though Milly was too busy ping-pongging herself around the city, busying herself with odd jobs (now that the world was saved, she said, she wanted to try everything!), the two always found time for each other for coffee or dinner. Vash didn’t mind sleeping on the couch for a couple days out of the week.
That was another thing- whether it was by Meryl’s side, on the couch, or even just sitting on the porch, he truly had a place he could call home. It felt so strange to not travel constantly anymore; he’d almost call it an age of stagnation, but the company was too good for it to be truly boring.
Sometimes he wondered if Wolfwood felt the same when he died. More than anything, he still wished he could ask- did you feel at home when you went? Was I a good enough drinking buddy?
Weeks turned into months, and eventually a year of stability passed. Predictably, Vash broke down and asked Meryl and Milly if they could pretty please take a two-month long vacation with him, just like old times, and thankfully- they said yes. Though Meryl still insisted that they make stops to a place with a working typewriter and postal system, of course.
And they had fun, the three of them. Like old times. Vash’s year-long itch had been scratched by the time they got back.
It became its own routine after a few years for them to become vagabonds around new year’s eve, and though it was better than before, Vash still needed something in his life to be random. Meryl was fun, but she was also committed to her work and her family- Milly, however, was her own adventure, and like a lost puppy, Vash started following her along for all the odd jobs she took up.
Well- at least to the places that didn’t bother with background checks. Being a wanted man provided him with a little extra thrill, as annoying as it could be at times.
Between shadowing Milly at work every other week, trying to be a good house-husband for Meryl, and adventuring with Livio when the two crossed paths again (they always seemed to at just the right time), Vash was settling in.
He would always miss Knives. And Wolfwood. And every other face he’d never see again- not until the next life, or the one after that. But, despite it was all, he was… happy.
At least, until Meryl got her first grey hair.
She’d only freaked out about it a little (well, in Meryl terms, at least); Vash and Milly both assured her that she wasn’t an old hag and that it was normal as the years passed. It was a good thing- a sign of survival, despite everything. Some people would kill to have the luxury of going grey.
Later, Vash explained to her that it almost felt like they were equals now. His scars, which he only ever showed to her, and her greying roots, which she only ever showed to him, were now mutual signs of trust in one another. A sign of humanity in between the cracks. She seemed to really appreciate that, which made him happy.
What he didn’t tell her was that he was terrified.
He’d noticed in recent years that his body ached a little more than it used to, a sure sign of aging- one he hadn’t felt in many, many years. He hadn’t known whether to be relieved- no more outliving everyone he loved- or to be scared, because he’d never learned to fear his own demise the way every human was pre-installed to. Maybe it was less isolating than the experience of immortality, but it was terrifyingly lonely in its own right, and he felt suddenly very young and very small, scared of his own shadow again.
How much time did he have left? Would he live out his days at a normal human rate? Would his lifespan be lengthened? Would it be shortened, even, after all the wear and tear on his earthly vessel? For the first time in a very long time, he found himself actually caring about the answer. After so long dooming himself to die, and then living despite everything- what was he to do with all this extra borrowed time? Meryl wouldn’t understand, or Milly, or Livio. Wolfwood had a similar idea in his head- that he was here for a good time, not a long time- and he’d made good on that philosophy.
His ghost was probably somewhere up in the stars, tsk-tsking at Vash for worrying so much. That he’d spent so much time saving his ass just for that needlehead to get scared at the thought of being alive? How annoying.
Vash told himself that, over and over, in an attempt to feel better.
But it didn’t fix everything. He looked over at Meryl’s sleeping body next to his sometimes and understood that there were only two choices- one of them would, at some point, outlive the other. And what would happen then?
He hoped he outlived her, most of the time. He had known enough loss to be able to shoulder it with enough grace to fool the others. But being lonely again, after everything, felt so terrible… he just didn’t know what to do, and the not knowing scared him more than he cared to admit. At one point, though, Meryl sensed something was up- because of course she did. She was smart.
And, when asked, he finally explained. That when it came to the aging process, he felt truly powerless, both over himself and over others- and that it was something he was terribly unused to.
And rather than tell him to stop worrying about it and get his head back on his shoulders, like she was apt to doing at times- she listened, and she said, “I’m still happy to spend my time with you, for however long we have. It doesn’t need to be forever.”
They hugged, and Vash cried a little, and then they went to bed- but he felt better. Because Meryl was right, and for a man who avoided commitment like the plague, he worried so much about the longterm that he’d forgotten the fact that humans weren’t really supposed to live like that.
It didn’t fix everything. There was no fixing everything, and honestly, Vash preferred it that way. To be completely devoid of remorse was to be even more alien than he already was. But it was a reminder that he had someone in his bed to vent to, and that he had a lady outside who he needed to go muck the toma stalls with next week, and that there’d be an old face popping up around town any day now to go bar-hopping with.
He was starting to sink into the routine, leisurely and softly, like old bones on sofa chairs. Maybe he was finally starting to grow up again after all this time. Was it still possible for somebody as old as him to change? It must be. This was his blank ticket to the future- one of many, all which had suited him as needed. Now, though, for the first time in a long time, stability is what fit him best.
A couple years later, Vash got his first grey hair, a stand of salt in a pepper haystack.
It’d popped out of nowhere. Yesterday, he’d been entirely normal- which, in these older days, meant that his hair was perfectly black. It must’ve been hiding behind his first layer of bushy, upright hair, visible now only when he brushed and looked closely.
His first thought was reasonable- ah. I’m dying.
His second thought- that was a bit dramatic.
And that was true; he wasn’t dying. But he was definitely aging- a first for him, and a sore reminder of all his current fears. He was aging. He wasn’t immortal. The only question now- how much time would he have? He didn’t feel old, even if his back was starting to hurt a little on early mornings, and he wondered when or if he would truly get a sense for what that would even feel like.
Amongst the quickening spiral, though, there was- relief. He had lived for so long. He had seen so much; suffered and caused suffering; put lovers and family to rest and reset the cycle, continuously, wax wings to the eternal flame of mortality. At least, now, maybe in another century or more or less, the cycle would end.
He was not giving up- but the thought of resting, finally, united with everything he’d lost as ionic bonds in the galaxy, was the only thing that kept him sane.
After a long time, Meryl came in. She’d needed to do her hair.
Vash showed her, of course, because it’d been so long trusting her that it was starting to feel foreign not to. It was funny; he wasn’t used to that, either, even still.
When Meryl gave hugs, it was because she was showing some huge display of affection; hugs didn’t come often, which meant they held all their punch for just the right occasion.
The hug she gave him now wasn’t as bone-crushing as her normal ones, but it was tight enough that Vash could feel his heartbeat against both their chests. It beat slowly and then quickly with each wave of anxiety that hit him, but for some reason, it was still comforting to hear. A reminder of something human, something that connected him to the woman here with him right now.
“This is something to celebrate,” she told him. “I’ve been waiting for you to go grey with me!”
And, after a pep talk in the bathroom, they’d celebrated it that night; a nice salmon dinner at a nearby restaurant and then a rendezvous with Milly at the bar (but not too bad, because Meryl had work tomorrow). When Milly had heard what they were celebrating, she’d been just as excited as Meryl, which was something Vash didn’t fully understand but appreciated all the same.
When Livio came a few weeks later and they caught up, Vash told him as well. It turned out Livio was greying, too,, sooner rather than later, silver roots settling into his pale hair already. It was probably old stressors, he explained. That made sense, coming from him.
They visited Wolfwood’s grave, gave their respects, and wished that he’d been able to go gray with them, too.
The world around him didn’t explode or otherwise change in any significant way- but the people in it, in his little bubble, were happy. It’d gone better than he could’ve ever hoped.
And when he got his second silver hair, and then his third- Meryl was starting to call his hair “salt-and-pepper needles”- he felt secure in the present.
Strangely, as he got older, it’d become easier to look at his own reflection. Like he was… softening, somehow, into something more recognizable.
He liked that change.