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Distance makes the heart grow fonder.
Whoever came up with that saying deserved to be stabbed violently and brutally through the throat. What a load of lies. Distance did anything but make his heart grow fonder. It left him stewing in his own self deprecation, his guilt and doubts blistering up in sweltering hot nightmares and chest pains that wouldn’t subside no matter the remedy.
Time was a human construct, built to measure their short lives and even shorter experiences. Vash knew each lifespan a human had was as small as the grains of sand of Gunsmoke. Seconds, minutes, hours, days, years - it was a blink and a blur. Every waking moment he was conscious was nothing more than another grain in his hourglass that had no bottom.
The longer he was kept from his other half, the more his heart weighed. Anger had dulled to indifference, indifference to yearning, yearning to longing, to pain, to emptiness, to nothing at all and everything at once. The weight in his chest gave way to a black hole that devoured everything in its path, consuming him of any feasible idea of fondness.
In its wake were images of falling ships, falling stars, burning wreckage and chilling laughter. There was a time when the idea of ‘fond’ would bring the image of his brother to his mind but now there was nothing.
He went through the motions with each town he passed through. Smile at the children, offer kind gestures to the struggling humans trying to make due in their god-forsaken planet. Make as little as an impression as possible before moving on. Rinse and repeat.
The routine was mind numbing and meaningless. He used to find curiosity and awe in each new day, brimming with excitement to see how humans progressed beyond their struggles. Now it was just a drag. Another day, another town, another bounty poster passed through hands.
Vash exhaled, head tilting back as a warm gust of wind pushed at his back. His red coat bellowed, the heavy layer doing nothing to help ease the beating sun glaring down at him. The sand under his boots felt heavier than usual, moving like tar than thin grains. Each step was a drag of his body, energy quickly sapped by the heat and the sun and the ache in his limbs.
A misstep and he was pitching over a crest, crashing heels over head at the bottom of the dune. He laid there for a moment, mind spinning and body twitching as he tried to figure out if anything was banged up or broken. His fingers bent and he could wiggle his toes. All good signs.
He stretched himself out and allowed a moment of stillness. The worry of Worms settled in the back of his mind, a silent danger that always hung in the air while traversing the desert. If he got in trouble, he’d deal with it as it came. For now, he allowed himself to close his eyes and breathe.
The ache in his body was persistent, more of an ever present throb than a sharp come and go stab of pain. It’d never vanished since that night all those years ago, back when the sky fell and with it his heart. Today it seemed more unbearable, more centered towards his joints.
The sand felt warm under him. For a normal human, it’d be scorching. Unbearable.
It soothed the pain under his skin.
He laid there. The thought was fleeting and almost silent in its passing, an echo he could barely make out.
What if he just didn’t get up?
What if he planted himself right there, allowed his roots to sink down into the sand and hope to find purchase in the endless sea of gold? Would he shrivel up? Dry up and out of existence? Snuff himself out like a candlewick with no fuel to continue flickering?
What if he allowed himself to just lay there and accept whatever came to him?
But everything in his being screamed at him to continue. How dare he even consider stopping it all when so many lost their lives unfairly all those years ago? Who was he to take his life for granted after stealing away any possibilities from thousands? That black, ugly muck in his veins latched on with volatile spit and sharp claws.
Here he was, pitying himself when he was drenched in the blood of thousands. Rem would be so disappointed in him. She’d probably not even be able to look at him, disgusted by how he could muster up such audacity to act as if he had any right to be exhausted. As if he had any right to feel like he just wanted to close his eyes and never open them again.
Vash’s limbs felt heavy as he tried to lift his arms. He barely managed to lift them off the sand before they fell back down with a flop. His flesh fingers trembled, nails digging lines as he clenched his hand into a fist. His eyes burned behind his lens, vision blurring into a swirl of color.
He was so pathetic. So weak. So human .
The heat that burned across his cheeks and flushed down his neck had nothing to do with the scorching suns in the sky. He felt the ball in his chest, coiling tight and growing denser the longer he tried to hold it back. He breathed in once. Twice. Air stuttered in his throat, knife-sharp and as cold as a corpse.
[He’d always thought that dead bodies would feel like cryo sleeping humans. Cold with a hint of warmth under the skin. Corpses felt nothing like those in cryosleep. They were cold and clammy and heavy and strangely, their skin felt almost rubbery. Vash’s first time touching a corpse was trying to haul dead bodies of children from the wreckage of a ship. All the while, sickening laughter echoed in the air behind him.]
Vash squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to breathe. It kept catching right at his sternum. In-in-in- no out. He struggled to lift his arms, prosthetic fingers digging into his throat as he tried to pry his collar back. There were thin, pin-prick stabs of pain and he felt the warmth of something liquid-like sluggishly trickling down his neck and seeping into his shirt.
His fingers tightened, metal fingers cutting sharp lines from the crescent indents they’d originally marked. His other hand moved to fist at his jacket, fabric straining under the steely grip.
Heat flashed through him, followed by a gust of ice-cold, before the heat bared down on him again with no mercy. The cavity under his ribs expanded, maw gaping as if ready to swallow Vash in like a black hole-
[Like his arm-]
-and he couldn’t stop from arching his back as he wheezed, choking on pain and lack of air and the emptiness threatening to drown him in the sand with no burial or sliver of existence left. Eyelids fluttered, vision speckling black, and caught a flutter of white.
As if catapulted, his consciousness sling-shotted backwards, everything fading away as he fell backwards into the welcoming darkness.
Distantly, he could have sworn he heard a familiar tune playing on a piano.
He was startled awake as water poured over his head. He sputtered, limbs flailing. A film was over his eyes, blurring his vision, and it took him too long to realize he was only able to move two of his limbs properly, the other two nothing but stumps with swollen edges, no doubt irritated from the rough treatment Vash had been subjecting his body to. He tried to blink his vision clear and inhaled sharply when it barely did anything but blur more.
His good hand found purchase on the edge of something solid and cold. It felt like metal but was too smooth and glossy to be steel. It was deep, stumped thigh bumping the edge while his other foot barely hit the end of whatever he was encased in. He felt small, gangly body not at all uncomfortable or cramped as he tried to gather his bearings.
He rubbed at his eyes with his hand, ignoring the grit of sand as it cut into the tender flesh, and finally his vision cleared.
He was in a bathtub. An unfathomably large one. Definitely not one from any of the meager towns around where he’d fallen. Those were either wooden buckets made human-sized or rusted barrels soldered together into shallow bowls. No, this looked too polished to be from anything but a ship. Had he been picked up by Home? Or-
A hand threaded through his hair and gently tugged his head back. Vash stiffened, mentally chiding himself on his sluggish reactions and thoughts. He’d been awakened to water - of course someone else was with him. It didn’t rain on the planet. The only way was either stomach acid from a Worm or someone splashed him.
Icy blue eyes (unbelievably gentle and soft), platinum blond hair slicked back, a beauty mark opposite his own -
“Nai.” Vash uttered. He was sitting between Nai’s legs, his twin perched on the lip of the tub. Nai didn’t say anything but smoothed Vash’s wet bangs out of his face, tucking them behind his ear.
Was it pathetic that he couldn’t even feel fear? Was it disgusting that there were no fight-or-flight instincts, no sudden urge to lurch away and reach for his weapon? Was it inexcusable that he felt too hollow to even react, everything numb and gray and fuzzy around the edges?
“Vash.” Nai’s palm flattened along his forehead. It felt lukewarm against his skin. “I found you.”
Vash hadn’t been hiding? Confusion settled along his brow and he blinked slowly. Nai made it sound like they’d been playing a simple game of cat-and-mouse. Maybe they had been and Vash just never got the memo. He’d been on autopilot for so long, feet set to move on a trail designed by phantoms that clung to his coattails with red talons.
“You’re covered in sand,” Nai continued and it was only then that Vash realized that along with his missing metal limbs, he didn’t have any clothes. He looked down at his nude body belatedly, thoughts and feelings too slow to bubble up to the surface.
Faintly, he felt Nai stiffen against his back and knew without having to look at his twin that the murderous man was frowning. He was displeased. Vash wondered what he’d done this time to let Nai down, besides oppose their entire existence and brotherly bond.
“Oh.” Worms wiggled in his brain, stuffing him full of beating wings and loud buzzing. He could barely even string together coherent sounds to make words. “Yeah.” What else was new? No one on this god forsaken planet went a minute without sand somewhere on their person.
[And Vash was to blame for it all-]
“I’ll wash you.” Nai said simply. He disappeared, feet pattering along the steel floor as he moved to grab wash clothes and towels and herbal soaps made of oil and who-knew-what-else. Vash sat there, feeling like a puppet with cut strings, and wondered if he’d finally lost it. Maybe he was dying, devoured by a giant sand worm and this was his last delusional wish for peace before the end. Maybe the sun was cooking him burnt and his mind was giving him false hope to ease the pain of death.
Maybe, just maybe, this was real. If it was, Vash didn’t know what to do. Laugh? Cry? Beg to hastily raise graves for forgiveness for allowing their murderer to tend to him in his weakest moment?
He raised a hand, flexing his fingers. His digits felt like static, tingly and not at all like solid matter. He lowered his hand to his chest, digging his nails into his flesh until he drew skin. He felt detached from his body. Pain meant it was real, right? He wanted to confirm if this was a delusion or reality.
Nai’s hand jerked his arm up, suddenly in his space. Vash blinked slowly, moving his vision from the red beads of blood lining down his chest to Nai’s screwed up expression.
“Stop,” Nai ordered softly. “Don’t do that.” He tutted, swiping a thumb over the shallow crescents. Vash tilted his head to the side, still unable to settle the doubt - the unsureness of the situation.
“Why?” Vash asked as he watched his twin begin the faucet. He wondered where the water was coming from. Did one of their sisters make it? Was he sucking them dry of their life force just to clean his soiled, ugly self?
“I made this,” Nai said as if reading his thoughts, “and what do you mean, ‘why’?” He grabbed a washcloth, the square of fabric looking unfairly soft, and wet it. Vash was unable to connect the dots until Nai was already settled back behind him and the washcloth was brushing the back of his neck.
Oh. Oh. Vash stared blankly at the drain of the tub as the water spiraling down turned from a clear to a muddy brown. Nai’s touch was gentle, almost feather-like, as he brushed along Vash’s shoulder blades. He was quick on any scar, didn’t linger long enough for Vash to feel self-conscious, and worked thoroughly to get the sand off. Once Nai was satisfied with his back, he placed a hand on Vash’s shoulder and guided him back.
Nai’s thighs framed his shoulders as the wall of the tub bit into his spine. Nai towered over him, curling like a protective shield as the two met eye contact overhead.
“Look at you,” Nai whispered and Vash couldn’t even begin to fathom the tone of his voice. “My Vash.” The washcloth ghosted over his neck, over his collarbone, over his chest. All the while the two continued to maintain eye contact, neither blinking.
Vash’s mind was still. No buzz, no beat, no hum of anything. So silent, so still. He felt Nai’s hands run over his scars, tutting at any new ones he’d gained during their separation. Nai’s fingers danced across him, delicate as if Vash was fragile glass one touch away from shattering into pieces.
Nai used one of his hands to guide Vash’s head back, baring his neck. He hunched over his brother, movements certain, as he patted at the dry blood of the cuts on his neck. Vash’s eyelids fluttered and he felt something in his chest clench before releasing.
The washcloth slid down to the stump of his arm. Gently - so, so gently - Nai smoothed the soft fabric over his irritated skin. Vash couldn’t hold back the gasp or faint whimper, the fog around him thinning briefly from the sudden spark of discomfort. Nai made an apologetic noise and continued, other hand brushing through his hair.
Vash turned his head, nose brushing against Nai’s thigh, and tried to keep the ball of hot iron lodged in his throat. It was a losing battle. Even in his fog, in the darkness of his own making, Vash could feel the heat of tears trail down his cheeks. He inhaled an unsteady breath.
Each brush of the washcloth seemed to strip away something of Vash’s. His resolve, his guilt, the fog, the pain, the thoughts, his blood, his body, his mind - it was washed away into granules of sand, disappearing down the drain to who-knew-where. With each wash of dirty water, Vash felt a little more raw and a lot more exposed. Nai had him stripped bare, sternum cut through and ribs broken back, laying him out like a slab of meat to be divided and devoured.
Softly, Vash registered Nai humming. It was a familiarly haunting song, one etched into his very being as being theirs so strongly that it made the dam break. Suddenly he couldn’t breath, curling into himself as his chest heaved. His body coiled tight, muscles restricting as everything fell away.
He was so tired . Tired of running, tired of nightmares that chased his heels. Tired of fading faces and fading smiles. Tired of blood on his hands, on his feet, on the trail of his shadow. Tired of feeling. Tired of breathing.
Tired of everything.
He felt Nai’s arms wrapping around him and his body sinking down behind him. He was drawn back against Nai’s chest, thighs caging him in, and Nai maneuvered Vash’s face into the crook of his neck and shoulder. Vash tried to stop the sobbing, biting through his bottom lip in a bloody mess to stifle the noise. Nai pried his mouth apart, making soothing noises as he shoved his fingers into his mouth.
Vash somehow still had half the mind to know not to hurt Nai - not to bite down on his thumb and break skin, draw blood, bring forth pain. With his mouth forced open, his sobs were all the more ugly and uncontrollable, drool mixing with his tears and blood as his hand clawed for any solid surface to cling to.
Nai rubbed a hand up and down his back, lips pressed against his hair as he continued to hum and make little shushing noises. Not to silence Vash but to comfort him. Like Rem used to do to them when they were first becoming aware of themselves and didn’t know anything besides the comfort of each other and the woman who called herself their ‘mother figure’.
He tightened his hold on Vash, not letting up as he used one of his feet to knock the plug to seal the drain of the tub. Now that Vash was significantly sand-free, he was now able to fill the tub up for a right and proper bath. Without even thinking, he sent a knife out to nudge the handle of the tub to increase the temperature of the water.
Vash had never been a contained crier. Unlike Nai who silently allowed tears to fall and suffered internally, Vash was just as loud as his personality. In simpler terms - he was an ugly crier but Nai still found him beautiful in his flushed face, swollen eyes, and animalistic noises of anguish.
Nai pressed kisses to his hair, peppering them along his temple, across his hairline, over the crown of his head. The water had risen up to their hips. The tub itself was deep enough to where the two could be submerged comfortably but Nai didn’t need that. Not today. He instead stopped the water when it sloshed against their chests.
Vash’s sobbing was softening, cries turning into choked, stuttering sniffles. His death grip on Nai’s bicep loosened, hand slipping down to plunge into the water and fall heavily across their laps. Nai leaned back against the lip of the tub, keeping Vash to his chest as the two laid there in the hot water.
The two didn’t speak. Neither knew what to say, where to start, how to proceed. Instead, Vash shifted to get more comfortable, turning to press back to chest and rested his head on Nai’s shoulder. He turned his head, lips brushing his neck. Nai’s hands came up to circle his waist, holding him afloat.
“I’m sorry,” Vash croaked out. What he was apologizing for, neither knew. There was too long a list to pin a specific reason. Nai hummed. “I missed you.”
Nai squeezed him tighter and kissed his forehead. Vash’s eyes were swollen and red rimmed, face blotchy red from crying and the heat of the water. His hair was plastered against his face in a way that made him look like a drowned rat.
Nai pressed a kiss to the skin between his brows.
“I missed you too,” Nai responded honestly. Even if they had their oppositions and disagreements, it didn’t stop the ache of missing his other half. Vash and Nai were two halves of a whole and it nearly killed Nai every second he was away from his soulmate.
Vash leaned his head closer to Nai’s mouth, a clear request for more kisses. Not one to deny Vash physical affection, Nai complied by pressing butterfly kisses anywhere he could reach. He kissed his beauty mark, the bridge of his nose, the upturned tip, his cheeks, his forehead, each closed eye.
“I’m tired,” Vash admitted and tilted his head up, eyes opening up to reveal a bone-deep exhaustion.
“I got you,” Nai whispered as he pressed a chaste kiss to Vash’s lips, nuzzling his cheek against his head after. “I’ve got you.”
Vash was looking for a moment of weakness, a moment to allow himself to slip away from his duties, his burdens, his personal cross to drag with him. Nai would give that to him. Would be the sanctuary he needed, the asylum to soothe his aching soul and body. He’d tape him back up together again until the next time he unraveled.
And until the absolute moment of Vash’s next fall, Nai would catalog each scar and count every dip of broken-and-misaligned bone. He’d count each strand of blonde hair, knowing the next time they met, more and more of it would be a darker color - a murky warning of something Nai didn’t want to acknowledge.
So until then, Nai would allow this moment of blissful ignorance. Of denial to their eternal game of give and take. After all, unlike humans, they had all the time in the world.
And Nai would wait until Vash couldn’t get back up again, too mended by Nai’s thread and soothed by his balm and unable to move without the tape of Nai’s love to hold him together.
He had enough patience for it.