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It felt like you’ve freshly returned from the depths of hell after one maniac went loose in the town, something about him wanting to blow the place up - nothing too out of the ordinary when you’re traveling with the humanoid typhoon himself. Ever since crossing paths with Vash, it had become a predictable routine to you - the same song and dance where you and Wolfwood attempt to shoot the criminal, only for Vash to swoop in, miraculously finding an alternative safer option each time. And so it didn’t take long before you had begun to embrace it, accepting Vash's inevitably kind and pacifist nature. After all, you don't have the heart to see Vash upset with you. How he’d yell at you for hurting another, or in some days he would avoid confronting you all together. And yet, each time you return to him with blood staining your hands, the fabric of your shirt soaked in crimson, Vash would always hope that it wasn't your own.
This time however is a different case. As the sun dipped below the horizon in the small town you stumbled upon, your gang discovered a cheap, albeit rough looking motel to rest at. Despite its unappealing exterior, the four of you decided it was good enough to spend a night in. It was definitely much more appealing than sleeping out in the unforgiving desert wasteland. Though you didn't return unwounded. Unlucky for you, a stray bullet flew and shot your sides, lucky for you however, it did miss your vital parts. Barely.
In the dimly lit motel room, Vash idly tends to your wounds. This of course wasn’t an unusual situation. Due to his stubborn refusal to kill, it led to a growing collection of scars on your body. You didn’t mind, though. Each scar has a story to tell, a testament to your shared experiences. Besides, it warms your heart every time to think that he would treat each and every one of them with the utmost care.
You lay on the bed, your shirt thrown somewhere in the room as Vash gently tends to your sides with a warm towel. You had a habit of always rambling whenever Vash treats your injuries. It could be just about anything, from the fortunate days you get to devour a good meal all to yourself, or to your complaints of your body aching from the nights spent sleeping on the sand. Each time, he listens intently, finding comfort in the sound of your voice. Though this time around, you noticed a shift in his expression he often wears around you, like his mind is somewhere else.
"Are you even listening to me?" You asked irritatedly.
Vash didn't meet your eye, his attention fixed on treating your wound. "Of course I am."
"That's a lie," you spat out. "You're doing the thing again."
"What thing?"
"You know," you pointed a finger towards his face. "You should give that poor head of yours a rest, i swear one of these days its gonna explode."
Vash paused, his brows stitched together in thought as his expression turned sheepish. "Am I really that easy to read?"
"Mm, maybe. I can't decide if I'm just really good at reading people or you're just terrible at hiding your emotions."
"I hope its the first one," a soft chuckle spilled out of his lips. "Still, I didn't mean to make you worry. It's just that..." His eyes shifted back to your wound, he briefly pressed his lips together in thought before parting it to speak again. "..Does it ever hurt? Your scars, i mean."
You gave him a dumbfounded look. "I caught a bullet on my side and it barely missed my vital organs, but don’t worry it doesn’t hurt one bit. Gee, I wonder why you're even treating it in the first place."
The blond pouted his lips as he stared at you, signaling he did not appreciate your sarcasm. You put your arms up in defense, giggling lightly. "What do you think my answer was gonna be? I mean - Obviously yeah it hurts, but I've been through worse."
His face falls when he hears you, he hangs his head low to avoid direct eye contact. "See, that's the thing. There was a time when you went through something 'worse', I don't want there to be a 'worse' time. Think about it, how many people can say that after they just got shot?”
“You say that as if you could’ve changed the outcome.” You sigh in response to his words.
“But I could! If- I don’t know, i were just a tiny bit faster, then maybe-”
"Vash - God, we talked about this! I hate it whenever you put the blame on yourself. Especially when it’s something out of your control.” You snapped, scolding the man. "You can’t just keep using your body as a human shield, can you even count how many scars you have??"
"One bullet is nothing for me, but for you-"
"I can take a damn bullet, Vash." You didn't intend your voice to come out at the volume that it did, Vash flinched as he heard your voice booming back at him. Despite his head still hanging low away from your view, it was clear in his tone that he was upset.
With both parties refusing to talk, the air in the room quickly grew heavy with tension. Their faces each shown to have a million words written on it, though none could quite verbalize it. Their unspoken words continue to echo in the shared space like invisible barriers. And despite that, Vash was the first one to open his mouth, his voice barely a whisper to your ears as he hesitates with his words.
"But it's not just one bullet." He protested. His hands wandered to your right shoulder, a red mark forming across it. You winced slightly as you felt his fingers delicately brushing over it. "You got hit here just a few weeks ago. It was only a blunt object but it was enough to leave a lasting mark. And.." He reaches for your hands, fingers gently interlacing with yours as he drew it close to him. "Your hands don't feel the same anymore since you burned your fingertips." He lets go and instead he uses the very same hand to cup your face, his prosthetic brushing a stray strand of hair away, revealing a faint scar on your forehead. "There’s a cut here too. And that's not even counting your other scars on your body."
With his palms rested on your cheeks this was the first time your eyes met with his throughout the conversation. Your eyebrows inched together as you spoke, "What's your point?"
"Point is, It's that I could've prevented it all. You could’ve lived a perfectly normal life if you just hadn't got tangled up in my mess."
"This again..." You let your shoulders drop, but still maintain a firm grip on his hands. "I told you before, didn’t I? If I wanted to, I could've easily left this life behind. Hell, I've had plenty of chances to do so. But even after all the cuts and bruises, all the stitches and bullet wounds, the cheap motels and alcohol, why the hell do you think I still choose to stay here with you? Is it so hard to believe that I just - like having you in my life??"
He didn't answer, but he was quick to break eye contact again. His expression fell with guilt along with his hands now separated from yours. And if seeing Vash upset with you hurts, seeing him frustrated with himself just tears your heart in two.
Gently, you place your hand on his arm, rubbing it soothingly as you speak. "You rarely speak your mind, sometimes I feel like I never know what you're thinking. But if there's one thing I know is that you've always been stubborn as hell. Stubborn to always throw yourself into danger to protect others, stubborn for always giving kindness to those who've hurt you, stubborn for always being so selfless. But suddenly it's so wrong if the roles were reversed?"
"You know that's not what I meant." A frown etched his lips.
"Then what did you mean? That if a million of bullets come flying towards me you'd rather throw your body to shield me from it? Is saving me, a normal human life, really worth more than y-"
"Don't speak of worth like you're worth less than me."
"But oh it's okay if you say that about yourself, huh?” You fired back, frustration evident in your tone. “Even if you are some – fucked up alien plant being that doesn’t make you less of a human. Vash, you're just being a fucking hypocrite."
This time you forced him to face you, grabbing both of his shoulders and pushing them to meet your gaze. "Look. I hate yelling at you and you know I'm always bad with words. It’s just that.. You've lived a longer life than any of us had. Don’t say stuff like i’ve had it bad when you've experienced much 'worse' times than any of us could ever imagine. And worst thing is? I don't even know where half of your scars came from, nor how you got it. This bullet... I'm sure it's nothing compared to whatever hell you’ve been through."
Your voice wavered from its stern state from before, now reduced to a whisper. "So please... Please, if I'm able to. Let me be the selfless one this time. Let me be the one to shield you from bullets. Even if it's only one- at least that means one less scar for you." Tears sting your eyes as you clench your teeth. Your grip on his shoulders tightened as tears threatened to spill from your eyes. You could only hold back so much before you let them freely flow down to your cheeks.
“I never liked seeing you cry, you know that.” He simply said, the slightest smile gracing his lips. At that moment you wish you had the strength to wipe that stupid smile off his face. But instead when he wraps his arms around your body, you instinctively welcome his embrace, sobbing harder to his shoulder.
“You piss me off.”
Vash laughs in response. You could feel his chest vibrating as he does so, and that's when you know his laugh isn’t just a fake one that got stuck in his throat; it was genuine laughter. A smile creeped up to your lips despite your tear-streaked face.
“Yeah, I get that one a lot, especially from a certain someone. I don't blame them, though. I could be really annoying at times.”
“Oh very. It's a wonder why I decided to endure that for months now.”
He laughs again, letting his chin rest on your shoulder comfortably. “Then I'm sorry. I’m sorry I made you feel this way. I’m sorry that I was being a dumb hypocrite. And I’m sorry for being a terrible partner to you.”
In that moment, he allowed himself to be the selfish one. He pulled away from the hug only to close the gap once again by meeting his lips with yours. Before, he always felt a sense of guilt whenever he held you in his arms, afraid he might break you. It was as if he treated you like a delicate vase, terrified of the thought you’ll shatter if he made one wrong move. But this time, he felt like he could cast his all worries aside. He melted into the kiss as his prosthetic gently cupped your cheek, your arms wrapped around his neck in return.
The two of you parted, you felt like your tears had gone dry now, as if he kissed your tears away. You chuckled, “you really think you can kiss your way out of this, can you?”
His cheeks were dusted crimson at this point, but he laughs along. “You mean that didn’t work?”
“I never said that.”
“Hm, should I do it again for good measure then?”
You wore an exasperated look on your face, rolling your eyes at him. “Like you even had to ask.”
It was near impossible to say no to those eyes, and so your lips connected back to his. You find it funny, this situation wasn’t all that unfamiliar to you as you’ve done it countless times before, yet each time it felt new and exciting as if you two just had your first kiss all over again. And after everything he’d been through, you really wish that he had come to cherish moments like this just as much as you did.
The two of you pulled away, giggling like high school lovers. In here, tangled in each other’s arms, it felt like home. Like you could spend the rest of your life in bliss as long as you have the chance to hold him, to see the smile decorating his face, to hear the soft laughter you grew to love. So it wasn’t all that hard to believe when you forgot that Vash didn’t even finish tending to your wound, with loosely draped, half-made bandages still adorning your sides. But you didn’t care, seeing him content in your arms was enough to heal all the bruises and scars than any bandages ever could.