Work Text:
Wolfwood should have made Vash stay in the truck. He considered it when they arrived in town to refuel and restock, and again when Meryl tossed a sharp look over her shoulder at them and told them not to cause trouble. Vash’s sheepish laugh had been accompanied with an easy, “I’ll try my best!”
That's the moment Wolfwood should have tied him to the backseat. No way the walking natural disaster could actually keep his nose out of being a peacemaker for strangers for one day. Instead, Wolfwood had decided to trust that just this once perhaps Vash would go unrecognized and unnoticed. Perhaps the shadow of the Punisher could keep this wild typhoon in check.
Vash looked so happy , wandering the lively streets beside Wolfwood. It wasn't often they came across such a prosperous and cheerful town. The effect clearly did Vash a lot of good.
So Wolfwood made another mistake. He let his guard down. He bought into the light atmosphere and let Vash lead the way through the ramshackle, brightly painted buildings.
Honestly, he shouldn't have been so surprised when all hell broke loose.
They entered a bustling marketplace gathered in the town square. People milled around stalls piled high with fruits and handmade goods. Children wove between the adults, treats and toys clutched in their hands. Not a drop of ill intent, not a single sliver of a bad omen, permeated the air.
Vash slowed beside him. The afternoon sun caught his eyes, briefly reflecting the marks in their depths. They seemed obvious now that Wolfwood knew to look.
Vash inhaled deeply. “Ohh man, I think I smell donuts. We should get some!”
Wolfwood snorted. “The little miss boss herself said to buy only necessary food.”
“Donuts are necessary!”
“Okay. Your funeral.”
Vash grinned. His shoulder collided with Wolfwood’s side. “You could officiate it. I’m sure you'd have something nice to say.”
Wolfwood huffed a laugh. “Oh yeah, sure. ‘Here lies Needle-Noggin, the kindest and most brainless man I ever knew. May he rest in eternal stupidity in Heaven with God and a bottomless supply of donuts. Amen.’ Or...” He waved his hand vaguely. “Something like that.”
Vash laughed. The smattering of sun freckles stood out against the pink of his cheeks. “Didn’t know you thought so highly of me.”
Wolfwood spluttered. The heat of embarrassment crept up to his ears. “What? Shut up! I think a lot of people are kind! You're not special!” He ducked his head to avoid Vash’s soft, delighted smile.
Vash always found a way to break through Wolfwood's hard exterior. Damn him.
“Vash the Stampede!”
Wolfwood tensed. Instinctively, he tightened his hold on the Punisher’s straps and threw his free arm across Vash’s chest. He bit back a few choice swear words. “What now?” he hissed instead.
A man approached them from ahead. His fury parted the crowd. He pointed an accusing finger at Vash. “You have a lot to answer for! Monster!”
Vash flinched. The movement was so subtle that Wolfwood doubted even he would have noticed if he wasn't touching him. Vash raised his hands in surrender. “Ah, w-well, I’m happy to answer for whatever it is! I’ll buy you a drink and we can talk!”
The man barked a humorless laugh. “There's nothing to talk about. My brother lived in Jeneora Rock until you destroyed it. He's dead because of you!”
Vash’s hands fell to his sides. His face slipped behind a mask of sorrow, one that Wolfwood suspected carried the weight of the last century or so of tragedies and deemed personal failures. Wolfwood saw the thousand yard stare coming before his eyes clouded over.
A sense of impending danger crawled across Wolfwood’s skin. He peered in his periphery and noted the unrest in the crowd. The man had set them on edge with his anger. Fear made people reckless and unpredictable. He expected the flash of a gun barrel at any moment.
He gripped a fistful of Vash’s sleeve. “Hey. Let's go. We don't need to stay and listen to this guy.”
Vash didn't seem to hear him. “I'm sorry,” he said to the man, still fuming yards from them, “If there's anything I can do to make up for it-”
Wolfwood tightened his fists. The Punisher’s leather straps dug into his palm. “Stop it, Spikey. Let's go .”
Too late. The man pulled a pistol from his jacket and aimed it at Vash’s head. “Monsters like you only bring more death and pain. You can come quietly and let this town live in peace with that hefty bounty on your head.”
Vash pressed his lips in a thin line. He stared calmly at the man, or through him as the case may be.
Wolfwood, in turn, stared at Vash. He can't seriously be considering that! He tugged on his coat. “Oi. Needle-Noggin.”
It took a few more emphatic yanks for Vash to finally look his way. “Let's go back to the van,” Wolfwood repeated, “This isn’t worth it.”
You can't make this man see past his anger. You can't erase whatever happened.
Vash blinked some of the haze away. “Okay.”
Wolfwood didn't have time to enjoy his success. A gun barrel clicked. He whipped his head to the sound. He pulled the Punisher around just in time to block the bullet aimed at Vash’s heart.
“Shit!” he muttered, “I thought the damn posters wanted you alive!”
Vash hunched forward to curl behind the Punisher. He shrugged in a poor attempt at nonchalance. “Yeah, but no one cares if I get shot.”
Another bullet struck the Punisher. Wolfwood scowled. “I care!”
Vash turned wide, wonder-flooded eyes to him.
Wolfwood didn't linger on them. He glared at the glint of sunlight reflected on weapons clutched in desperate hands around them. That man had certainly stirred the crowd up. “Come on, let's get the hell out of here.”
He didn't wait for an answer. He switched his grip and took Vash’s other arm and, with the Punisher watching their backs, took off running. Several voices shouted after them. Bullets thunked against the wrapped metal and danced at their heels.
So much for staying out of trouble. Meryl was going to kill them if the townspeople didn't first.
Wolfwood itched to unwrap the Punisher and give the bastards a taste of lead. He only refrained when he imagined how devastated Vash would be. His lust for vengeance bowed to Vash’s distaste for violence. He used his weapon as a shield and led them in a zigzag pattern through the town.
His attempt at deception did little to shake off their pursuers. The rain of bullets was near endless. No matter how fast they ran or what wild twists they took, the crowd remained hot on their trail.
As he dodged another volley and yanked a startled Vash out of harm’s way (again), he had the terrible sense they were being herded somewhere. He thought for sure they must have been close to the edge of town by now, but those annoyingly bright buildings blocked the empty desert from view wherever he turned.
They rounded another corner. Wolfwood stopped and stuck out his arm to halt Vash. Several townspeople formed a blockade ahead, shoulder to shoulder with guns trained on them. They fired at the two of them without preamble.
Wolfwood hated being right.
He tugged Vash behind him and shielded them with the Punisher. The familiar burn of bullets and hot blood dotted his flesh. He grit his teeth and ignored it. He scanned the street for an escape and found it in a narrow alley hidden behind a rusted truck.
More bullets flew. He staggered a step as another found its mark. “This way!”
Vash followed.
They rounded the truck and bolted down the alley. Their feet thundered on the cobblestone. Sand and blood crunched and squelched in their shoes. Wolfwood cringed with every footstep and every puff of breath from their lungs. We might as well have a neon target on our backs.
After a few turns Wolfwood hoped would mislead their pursuers, he spied a cluster of scaffolding wrapped around a half constructed building ahead, perfect to rest and regroup. He ran inside the shadows and skidded to a halt. Vash’s telltale footsteps stayed close behind, copying Wolfwood’s movements.
He adjusted his sunglasses from where they'd slid down his nose in sweat. Panting, he poked his head back out the door and squinted at the street. No one had followed, or at least they hadn't shown their faces yet. Vash and Wolfwood had left no trace aside from a thin blood spatter baking in the sun. Wolfwood cursed his recklessness; he must have been bleeding worse than he thought. On muscle memory, he took out a vial and drained the contents. He grit his teeth against the lingering pain. Bullet wounds were another Tuesday for him, but they still hurt like hell.
Vash gasped out quick breaths behind him. “Did we lose them?”
Wolfwood tightened his fingers on the Punisher’s leather straps. “For now. Damn, you're a real trouble magnet, Needle-Noggin.”
Vash let out a clipped laugh. “Sorry.”
“Shut up,” Wolfwood retorted, with no real heat behind the words, “We need a plan to get back to the van.”
Vash hummed in agreement.
“They're gonna catch up to us. I’ll draw their fire,” he continued, “That’ll give you the chance to sneak out, assuming you know how to be sneaky.”
He expected a bounce back, some sarcastic quip or a not-so-exasperated sigh.
Vash remained silent.
A bit of something he blamed on the blatant lack of a cigarette drilled in the base of his skull. Wolfwood whirled around. “Oi, did you hear me? Or do you have a better plan?”
Vash blinked. “Eh? Oh!” He offered him a smile, toothy and bright. “Sure, I can do that.”
Wolfwood's eyes narrowed as he studied Vash’s smile, his taut shoulders, his arms wrapped loose around his middle. “Were you actually listening? I said I was going to draw their fire.”
“Okay.”
“And you're going to sneak back to the van. I'll meet you there.”
“Sure.”
“Needle-Noggin.”
“Mhm?”
Wolfwood stepped closer. “If you have a better idea, or if you want to yell at me for being stupid, then speak up. We don't have all day.”
Vash’s unfocused eyes drifted to the side. “Oh, your plan is fine, I’m just...I'm gonna...sit down before we move.”
The only warning Wolfwood got was a slight waver in his stance before Vash’s knees gave way.
Wolfwood’s heart clenched. He released his grip on the Punisher in favor of catching Vash. The weapon thunked to the ground as Vash’s forehead collided with Wolfwood’s shoulder.
“Sorry,” Vash mumbled, “Sorry, my head...spinnin...”
Wolfwood crouched with his hand on the back of Vash’s head, and another between his shoulder blades. “Shut up.” He guided Vash back and settled him on the wooden floor. He yanked his coat aside. “You should have told me you were hit.”
Vash slurred something that sounded like another apology.
Wolfwood would have slapped him if he wasn't aiming to maintain his composure. He pulled at Vash’s hand, anchored just under his rib cage. Bright red blood stained his skin.
Wolfwood cursed. Dark, wet splotches spread from at least three places on Vash’s torso. The black fabric heaved in time with each of his trembling breaths. Wolfwood cursed again. He pressed his own hands against the soaked spot above Vash’s hip. He swiveled around and searched for anything to stem the blood flow.
His eyes settled on the Punisher, still wrapped in its dusty white cloth.
Wolfwood cursed more emphatically. He reached across and deftly unbuckled the latch, yanked the straps off, and seized one of the cloths. He folded it and pressed it over the wound. He snatched Vash’s hand and replaced it with his own. “Hold that.”
He didn't wait to see if Vash complied. He unraveled more cloths and repeated the process, holding them in place himself. He glanced at Vash's face, ashen and covered in tiny beads of sweat. His eyes were hidden behind pinched eyelids.
“Hey,” Wolfwood called, “Did you hear me? You should have told me you were hit.”
Vash peeled open an eye. “Sorry. Thought I could handle it.”
Wolfwood bristled. He suspected it was more out of concern than anger. Curse his damn feelings. “Is that how you usually get around, huh?”
Vash had the decency to look truly apologetic. “I find a spot to lay low ‘n patch up. ‘T works.”
“You're an idiot.” He cringed at the blood seeping into the knees of his pants. He managed to twist his fear into a scowl before he thought Vash noticed. “You're a damn freaking idiot . You can tell me when you're freaking hurt, okay?”
“‘Kay.”
“Stay awake.”
“Am awake.”
Wolfwood tossed aside a bloody cloth and reached for a new one. A string of messy, foul curses flew through his mind. He licked his dry lips with an equally dry tongue. “Okay, new plan. We’re sneaking back to the van together.”
Vash’s breath hitched. “You should go without me.”
Wolfwood stiffened. “What?”
“Go. I’ll only slow you down.”
“No! Hell no!”
A tear trailed its way down Vash’s pale cheek. Two slivers of brilliant blue fixed on Wolfwood. His lips tilted in a small smile. “It's okay.”
Wolfwood’s scowl slipped as panic clawed at his throat. “Listen, I don't care if it takes us hours to sneak out or if I run like hell with bullets on my heels and you on my back. I'm not leaving you behind.”
Vash’s lungs constricted and wheezed. His lower lip trembled. “B-but I... he’s right. Jeneora... People died and I couldn't stop him a-and it’s my fault .”
Wolfwood risked taking a hand off his wounds. He grabbed Vash’s own hand and squeezed it. “Hey. Vash. Vash. ”
Wolfwood repeated his name until their eyes met. “Listen to me. Whatever shit went down in Jeneora Rock, it wasn't your fault. You don't deserve to be shot and bleeding out because people blame you for something you didn't cause.”
The tears came in rivers now, cascading down Vash’s cheeks. Real tears, like the ones he muffled in his coat sleeves in the middle of the night, not the fake ones he used to convince Meryl to pull the van over so he could get a closer look at a worm nest.
A surge of something incredibly warm flooded Wolfwood’s chest. It spread like vines throughout his body with names he ached to pin to it. A fierce sort of holdprotectlove that he hadn't experienced since he left the orphanage, an emotion he hesitated to admit he felt at all. That would mean attachment , and that got kids killed or worse in that godforsaken lab.
He shook his head, rattled out those thoughts. He wasn't there anymore. Maybe he could risk some of that here.
Wolfwood brought their hands up to his chest. He forced his breaths into a steadier rhythm and prayed his pulse would follow his lungs’ example. He pressed Vash’s knuckles over his heart. “Hey. Listen.”
He’d seen Meryl do it once while she talked Vash down from a panic attack. She shared later that she thought he might have an easier time connecting with a person’s heartbeat, ever since she saw him pressed against the plant’s tank on the sand steamer. She suspected it's how he connected with that plant. It worked wonders when Meryl had done it.
It seemed to work now. Almost immediately, Vash breathed more evenly. His eyes lost much of their frantic edge. His pulse fluttered against Wolfwood’s wrist.
Wolfwood held his gaze. “You don't deserve to be hurt. You won't be again if I have any say in the matter.”
Vash swallowed harshly, perhaps to suppress a sob. A wavering smile crossed his lips. “Okay.”
He let them linger there while Vash breathed and Wolfwood wrangled his emotions. He listened for the telltale sign of angry gun wielding townspeople, but by some miracle, they never came.
Their luck wouldn't last. Wolfwood decided not to wait to find out when it would run out. As soon as Vash had decent control over his vitals and the blood didn't flow quite as fast, Wolfwood moved.
He tapped his thumb on Vash’s hand. “We’re getting out of here now. Ready?”
Vash gave him a sharp nod. He clenched his jaw so tight it made Wolfwood wince.
He maneuvered Vash onto his back and hooked his hand beneath his knee. He tucked the Punisher under his other arm. Vash clung to him with both hands fisted in his jacket. Their arrangement was a little awkward, but Wolfwood didn't mind as long as it got them the hell out of there.
He poked his head out. Took a breath. Made it exactly four steps out.
A shout rang in the street. They'd been spotted already.
Wolfwood sprinted away.
He managed to keep a grip on at least one of their good luck threads. Their pursuers couldn't keep up with him. He waited for more bullets, to trip and fall, for Vash to cry out, but nothing happened.
He reached the edge of town. To his shock and relief, the van sat idle in the sand yards from them. Meryl leaned against the hood, her arms crossed and brow drawn in a line.
She reacted first. She straightened and dropped her arms when she saw them. “Don't tell me you idiots are the reason for all that gunfire.”
Roberto leaned out the passenger window. “You kids okay?”
Wolfwood dashed straight for the back door. “Yes and no.”
Meryl opened the door. She studied them, her fury dissipating. “What happened?”
“Later!” Wolfwood tossed the Punisher in the cargo bed. He eased Vash off his back. “Get us out of here!”
Meryl, predictably, didn't listen. She helped guide Vash into the backseat. “What did you do?”
“Dared to show our faces in public!”
“Huh?!”
Bullets pinged off the van door. Meryl yelped. Wolfwood cursed and tucked her against him, shielding her with his own body and the door.
“You must have really pissed ‘em off!” Roberto remarked from his hunched position.
“The feeling’s mutual!” Wolfwood hopped into the backseat. He pulled Vash’s head in his lap and bent over him, one arm draped over his chest. “Let's go , now!”
Wolfwood caught a glimpse of Meryl’s resolute face before she slammed the door shut. She darted around the van and clambered into the driver's seat.
They locked eyes in the rear view mirror.
The van lurched. They roared into the desert and left the town in a wake of dust.
Meryl drove with the gas pedal to the floor until the town had long since disappeared. Wolfwood doubted anyone would pursue them since their goal had been, by and large, to chase Vash out. Still, he felt more at ease with such a distance between them.
Meryl pulled the van close to a small dune. They set up camp in the shelter of the sand and tech. Wolfwood had managed to stem the blood flow from Vash’s wounds at last, but not before he'd spilled too much all over the backseat.
Meryl and Roberto started a fire and got some food going. Wolfwood patched up Vash now that they weren't in a bouncing vehicle. Valiantly, Vash managed to stay conscious the whole time. From the moment they tore off into the desert to the end of Wolfwood’s careful first aid, Vash answered his questions and squeezed his hand. Only when Wolfwood finished and told him to rest did Vash finally succumb.
He watched him from across the camp. Meryl leaned against the dune with Vash’s head in her lap. She ran her fingers through his hair in a soothing, rhythmic motion and stared with heavy eyelids into the depths of the fire. Roberto sat near her, his second cigarette between his teeth and a map in his hands. He glanced over at Meryl and Vash every minute or so.
Wolfwood eyed his own collection of cigarette butts in the sand beside him. He tapped his itching fingers on his knee. He’d cleaned the blood off his hands hours ago, judging by the fading sunset, but he couldn't clean out the lingering crust around his nails. He couldn't erase the memory of Vash’s life draining between his fingers, or the ghost of Vash’s pulse against his palms.
He swallowed a bit of bile. He focused on Vash’s chest, which rose and fell in an even cadence, and tried to match it.
Roberto set aside the map and settled back against the dune. He broke the silence with his gruff, hushed voice. “There's another town about two hours north of here. I know someone there who will help us without asking questions.”
Wolfwood scowled. The town’s angry, bitter faces flooded his mind. “We don't need help.”
Roberto continued in the same light, matter-of-fact tone. “Well, we’re still low on food. We should restock our first aid kit, too.” He glanced across at him. “Besides, Vash will heal easier in a real bed, don't you think?”
Wolfwood lowered his gaze and grumbled under his breath. He hated to admit the old man was right.
“Does the person you know happen to be a doctor?” Meryl asked, “Vash lost a lot of blood.”
Wolfwood scratched the back of his head. “Do plants have blood types? That might be...a problem.”
Roberto stood and dusted off his clothes. “We can handle that in the morning. With any luck, Vash will be awake and alert enough to give us some advice. For now, let’s get some rest, kids.”
Wolfwood stood as well. “First watch is mine.” He ambled towards Meryl in a poor attempt to behave naturally. “I'll take over for you.”
She blinked slowly and rubbed her eyes. “Are you sure? You must be exhausted.”
“You're the one who's exhausted, little boss lady.” He crouched in front of her and patted her shoulder.
He never thought he'd do that. He must be going soft. Damn his emotions. Damn the people around him for giving him those damn emotions.
“I’m fine,” Meryl insisted, stifling a yawn.
“Come on, newbie,” Roberto called to her as he laid out a couple blankets, “Get some sleep for now. You can take second, if it's that important to you.”
“Fiiine.”
She propped Vash up with careful hands beneath his back and head. With some maneuvering, Wolfwood took her place. Meryl let her hand linger on Vash’s cheek before she bid them both goodnight.
Wolfwood envied how easily she displayed her affection. His hands hovered awkwardly above Vash. He stared at the appendages as if they were completely foreign entities. He didn't know what to do with them.
He settled for one hand on Vash’s shoulder and the other on his own leg. He rested his head back on the dune and watched the stars twinkle in and out of view. A worm flew overhead every now and then, their glowing green bodies disrupting the constellations. He could almost feel their eyes boring holes through his skull. One of them buzzed past his head. Wolfwood flipped it off when it got too close.
Let Zazie snoop and stare if he wanted. He wouldn't learn anything he didn't already know. The vindictive, protective side of Wolfwood had to make sure the little beast knew that anyone who touched this circle of people would answer to the Punisher.
Screw it, he was getting really soft.
Something tugged on his shirt. He almost swatted at it, assuming a worm had snuck past his defenses. He paused and lowered his hand back on his leg.
Vash curled his fingers tighter in the folds of Wolfwood’s shirt. He struggled to keep his eyes open, but the smile he seemed to maintain with ease.
“Hey, Needle-Noggin,” Wolfwood muttered, “Go back to sleep. You gotta rest up so Meryl can chew you out for getting shot.”
“Thank you.”
“What?”
Vash smiled brighter somehow. “Thank you for everything.”
Wolfwood deflected the warmth growing in his chest with an attempted joke. “Let's just hope the next stop doesn't involve crazy people with guns.”
“At least I know you're watching my back.”
Wolfwood stared across camp at the Punisher, missing half its wrappings. His stomach sloshed uncomfortably at the reminder of his fight to keep Vash from bleeding out in his hands. “Not well enough.”
Vash hummed, a note of disapproval in his tone. He lost the battle with his heavy eyelids. “Well enough for me,” he whispered, “You saved me, stayed with me... It means a lot.”
Wolfwood hesitated only a breath before he moved his hand from Vash’s shoulder to his head. It felt natural once he started smoothing his fingers through Vash’s hair. He wondered why he hadn't given in sooner.
“Someone's gotta pull your stupid ass out of trouble.”
“I'm glad it's you.”
A lump rose in Wolfwood’s throat. He waited until Vash had fallen asleep, then he smiled.
“I'm glad it's you, too.”