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As if claiming his prize, crossing the finish line and taking hold of the trophy he so desired, the priest gave a confident smile towards the horde of hunters scrambling to leave the scene. His cross, painting a shadow across the golden sand, was deemed full of mercy. Giving a taste of that benevolence to every bandit, allowing them to flee for penance, he prayed for them to never intertwine paths with the traveling pair again. Not for his own sake, but for theirs. Maybe he would not be so kind next time, but the one next to him would absolutely be. He never learned. Vash the Stampede, able to adapt to any and all circumstances, never registered that concept in his head. That maybe they would come back, and not use their second chance well. That their cycle would repeat once again. For this man, it was his turn to learn–his moment to realize just what was important to him. The twin suns disappeared across the horizon, replaced by the view of many pale moons calling out to the pair. This called for a celebration, a drink to commemorate another day of living. However, their time was cut short. Drifting off to sleep was the legendary outlaw, Vash the Stampede.
How could he stand to sleep right after he fought for his life for the umpteenth time this week, a never ending cycle of gunshots and fatalities, followed by shivering fingers on the trigger, quivering lips and unspoken words between them? Wolfwood, assassin unparalleled and combatant unrivaled, laid awake with the only sound accompanying him being his deepest, darkest thoughts in the corners of his psyche. Every few minutes, his gaze turned towards Vash, his lonely eyes flickering with an emotion he had not quite understood yet. He was a strange person, devoid of desires and cares in the world. According to him, that was. Such was proven wrong fairly quickly, when his traveling partner—on a separate bed—seemed to stop breathing for a moment, his chest no longer rising and falling.
“.. Aye, Spikey. This isn’t funny.” He began, a firm and steady hand latching onto his scarred and torn wrist—so very close to his own hand, except Wolfwood thought that would make the situation far too personal. Vash would never let him live it down. “You better not be playing some joke on me, I’ll beat your ass to oblivion.”
No, he would not end up following his word. No matter how many times he swore to the Lord himself that he would fling that bird-brained friend of his into outer space, he never did. Wolfwood valued him too much, so much that it was pathetic. So much that he began to grow more agitated when the lack of response–his silence–became deafening. Nicholas D. Wolfwood, the dedicated priest that he was, did not have a very holy manner of speech and most certainly used God’s name in vain as he kept jostling that friend of his. “Spikey, Spikey,” he yelled, to no avail. “Needle-Noggin,” his voice rasped, prompting no answer.
Instead, what relaxed his nerves was the faint pulse beating beneath the cold surface, concealed by layers of armor and bulletproof velvet. Hope was not lost. It had simply been led astray, guided back to its rightful home with Vash. Thus, it turned out the idiot was just asleep after all, though his exhaustion and little automatic movement signified the coming of a lengthy resting period. For how long? Wolfwood was entirely clueless. Not only did mayhem follow the two wherever they went, but they seemed to produce a portion of it on their own, just from how different from the average people they were.
But Wolfwood refused to think about that, especially this late at night. That was a train of thought better suited for his morning self–as if there was any difference between them. He remained the same old Wolfwood, the same old fool who smoked hundreds of times a day to distract himself from what lingering thoughts invaded his mind, to keep himself grounded. He had other priorities, the most basic human needs. This would be a long day.
___
Day 1: When leaving a plant in the care of an ordinary person, not a trained professional, there are a number of procedures that one may underestimate the importance of or forget entirely. In no way did Wolfwood come prepared for the sudden pause in his usual activities, yet it was clear that his traveling companion trusted him despite that discrepancy. Proven by various studies and scientific research was the importance of talking to plants, for they are susceptible to emotions and energy embedded in their surroundings. Wolfwood, however, was no conversationalist. When he spoke to Vash on their journey, it ended in bickering and a lecture on the value of one’s life, optimism, and his long lifespan having bore witness to humanity’s beauty. Which, naturally, included the priest. How embarrassing.
Thus, he refused to speak to the one in his care for hours. If Wolfwood blurted out a sentence that felt too intimate, far too sentimental for his liking, he would never let himself live it down. Such a pitiful life for him–not that he wanted any in the first place, do not be mistaken. Once his dignity left and the boredom grew overwhelming, the priest began mumbling incoherent thoughts, sometimes accompanied by a low growl demonstrating just how useless he believed this aspect of the process to be. Only then was he struck with the reminder that, to put it bluntly, his thoughts on it did not matter here. Lo and behold, the hypotheses were correct, and the tension Vash harbored within his muscles fell away slowly as the faint sound of Wolfwood’s voice entered his ears.
“.. You’re seriously gonna make me do this? Fine, let’s chat. What’ve you got to say to me, now of all times? I’m all ears. Get up already, won’t you?” A futile attempt at calling out to him, only prompting another minute or two of silence. “I’m not really fond of using my words. I’d rather take action. You know that more than anyone.”
Across the room was the major evidence of that claim–his namesake, wrapped in a worn cloth just barely bound together. Wolfwood’s gaze averted it during their conversation–it was his more than both of theirs, for he was the one doing all the talking. Not part of their usual routine, that thought made his stomach churn. On and off, the entire day, he experienced certain pains that he could not tell if it came from a lack of company, or him exerting so much energy the day prior and immediately resorting to another fluorescent teal vial. For all the healing it did, that serum hurt him simultaneously, but it was only a matter of building immunity. No one was completely immune to pain, however. Not even someone like him or Vash. In addition, the emotional ache was an entirely different subject. He preferred not to talk about it.
“That’s the only consistent thing about us. We keep changing, and this hellhole of a planet keeps changing too. For better or for worse? Hell if I know. But it’s different now,” Wolfwood huffed, lighting up another cigarette and letting smoke fill his lungs–his favorite pastime, his bad habit, his necessity. There was no Vash to nag him about it right now. Somehow, it felt strange. He was not used to it.
.. What if there was no Vash at all in this world, what would happen?
Being an alien-esque organism, surely he could have deserted this world whenever he pleased. At any point, he could have grown tired of humanity’s escapades, taken his brethren, and disappeared among the sea of stars in the vast open universe away from the human exploits. As quick as he came to this world, crashing down with it, he could have left. Yet, Vash planted his roots within the sand and grew alongside the population. He had an overwhelming faith in them, in their capacity for change. He held the hand of every cold-blooded killer who tried to drive a bullet through his head, and encouraged them to find another path in life.
“You don’t have to do this,” he always whispered to them, “you have a choice.”
Well, now it seemed Wolfwood was making his choice, as much as he hated to admit it. Maybe he had some faith still left in his heart as well, a prayer or three he could recite while his hypocrite self never followed through on most commandments. Then again, neither did anyone else in this world. “If you wake up soon, you can still see those changes. Even if they’re small.”
___
Day 2: No matter how many hours he spent washing off his hands, scrubbing every inch of his skin until it was raw, there would never be a time in which the priest would deem himself worthy enough to touch another again. In his eyes, which have seen so many horrid acts, he would taint or contaminate them with his detrimental sin. Wolfwood, barely a believer, most certainly retained his faith when it came to those more negative aspects. Call him a pessimist, but to him, it was simply the truth. Nobody would want to hold a killer, nobody would want to hold the Punisher himself. His title, a barrier that prevented him from ever receiving affection, stood out more than the gaping hole decorating the fifth moon. By the time he woke, it had disappeared from the sky completely, and taken its place below the horizon.
Rising and setting sun cycles did not matter to Vash. All the while, he was still resting. Truly a testament to the priest’s patience, it was nearly insulting how pretty Vash looked with his eyes closed, lashes decorating below his lids, and his radiating visage–a sight for Wolfwood’s sore eyes–illuminated by what little light the room provided. It made him scowl just thinking about it, how he could take part in the most mundane actions and still manage to appear beautiful. There were fleeting moments where Vash shivered, yet there was no evidence of his mind being active, no electrical currents painting vivid dreams within that complex brain.
Wolfwood was in no way an expert, he simply went off his gut feelings and what little information was given to him as Vash grew into the body he inhabited, the angel he was destined to take his true form as. Perhaps some of that was pure observation during their quiet moments and the product of analyzing his fighting style–what body parts indicated his status. Most notably standing out were the roots of his hair, his golden locks which stood on end as if he was shocked by a lightning bolt. Running his fingers through it and taking apart every detail, looking closely at the patient, the priest determined that he was still healthy after remaining in his care for the past numerous days. Thus, he concluded that this was a natural process, affirming he had nothing to worry over. For the most part. Yet, Wolfwood was selfish, and kept asking his traveling partner to awaken so he could greet the insurance girls. So he could say hello to his friend with a charming smile, and get back to their usual routine of bickering.
That was not a very pure, holy quality, was it?
“Don’t leave me hanging, idiot. Don’t leave them waiting. They’re very patient, you know. They’re just counting the days until you eventually come back to them, like always. We have to get a move on. It’s only right, it’s only polite.” As if he of all people could talk about manners.
“You want that reunion, don’t you? ‘Course you do. You’re gonna have a good time, you’ll eat and drink with them despite everything we’ve all done. Because that’s how it is in life, even if you refuse to listen. After they’re tired and clocking out for the night, we can have another one of our talks. Those ones you think are special,” Wolfwood paused.
And they were. It certainly was special, it was a little ritual for them both. But you did not hear that from him. Nobody did. If he ever implied it, he rescinded his insinuation immediately. As he feared, this was a clear example of what the guide considered too personal and intimate for his liking. He had to even out the conversation with a joke.
“Man, what’ll you even talk to me about? You’ll probably get drunk off your ass and not be able to form sentences. Word of mouth spreads fast, Needle-Noggin. Too bad you won’t be able to send out any gossip yourself. No worries, I’ll do it for ya. I’ll tell everyone how legendary gunman Vash the Stampede can’t hold his liquor, his one weakness.”
.. But he was not entirely correct there. Vash certainly had another weakness, one which even triumphed over his lightweight temperament. All that observation, yet it went entirely unnoticed beneath the radar. He kept his cards close to his chest, after all.
That weakness was Wolfwood himself.
___
Day 3: Speak of the Devil, and he will appear. Not that the ladies were in any capacity comparable to the leader of the underworld, they were practically saints all things considered, but that was how the saying went as far as Wolfwood was concerned. Frantically organizing every corner of the room and shaking Vash in an attempt to wake him, he grew increasingly more panicked that the girls were ahead of schedule. Curse them for being so punctual and more efficient than the two of them combined. Such a quality was part of their charm, in addition to the reason why they were so well-versed in survival. They had proper employment, the confidence to take on other occupations, and a unique resilience that Wolfwood only wished he could embody. But for now, as much as he wished to see them, he could not bring himself to open the door. Not while Vash was still recovering, and especially not while he had clumps of feathers and soft plumage sprouting from his face and neck.
“Hey, is everything alright in there? Is Mister Vash okay? What’s with all the noise, there’s no need to be worried! It’s just us!” Milly shouted from behind the peculiar walls, covered with rot and splinters. “If there’s a mess, we won’t judge! You’re on a budget!”
Meryl followed close behind, anxiously tapping her foot on the floorboards as she awaited Wolfwood’s voice slipping past the cracks and welcoming them both into their–albeit temporary–humble abode. “We know it’s you in there, we did our research. Believe me, neither of you are very good at covering your tracks.”
Then again, were the insurance girls very proficient in that either? Thus, with the silence already conveying enough information for the two, Meryl concluded that it was best to depart and check in another time before they got irritated from the lack of response. Exit Derringer Meryl and Stungun Milly, a dynamic duo that had better ideas for a day out than just waiting by a door in a cheap motel.
“.. God, you’re annoying as hell, Spikey. You better pay me back as soon as we’re done with this whole situation,” the priest groaned, as if he would have it any other way. Without reimbursement or any sort of reparations, he would gladly take care of the angel still resting peacefully. Nobody would ever hear him admit that either. Truly, the feelings he released when he was alone were a myriad of mysteries. Not even he understood it–how frustrating. Nevertheless, he shoved that confusion aside to make space on the bed for his person.
Today came the hour of pruning, a unique favor that Vash entrusted to Wolfwood on previous occasions. To prepare him for such a task, though unbelievably vague when explaining and not the best at describing it, Vash provided a brief lesson on what exactly the process consisted of. Putting it simply, pruning was the removal of deteriorating feathers in hopes of making space for healthier new ones. Every time Wolfwood looked away, even if for a second, by the time he looked back, there would be a sea of new feathers flowing across his companion’s body, subconsciously twitching as if they longed to be free again. Based on this evidence, one could conclude that Vash concealing his more beast-like form took copious amounts of energy. No wonder he needed the hibernation period.
To take the edge off, Wolfwood simply began detangling each and every wing on his feathered friend’s person, gently tugging at the weaker appendages to eventually let it fall. Naturally, he began to question how exactly Vash managed this task for decades, years on his own. Surely he thought this to be laborious, exhausting for someone with so little time available for taking care of his appearance. As the distant human features faded, covered by the radiant white, Wolfwood naturally grew more curious. There was so much he lacked knowledge about in this world, and what lay beyond the orphanage’s walls remained unknown even to his jaded mind. Not that it was his problem in the slightest–that did not concern him.
“Almost done here, I’ll be out of your hair in a second. Can you even feel me doing this?” Wolfwood paused, setting aside his disorganized pile of dirty, tainted plumes. Perhaps this would be easier if he trimmed the surface, rather than manually having his hands glide across Vash’s body. Duty-bound and diligent in his responsibility, he disregarded that idea.
“And.. Done. You’ve got no sense of routine, huh.”
___
Day 4: Today, Wolfwood felt as if he was being watched–as if the eyes of heaven above were on him. Rightfully so, he likely was. Perhaps it was not in the grand scheme of his religious beliefs, but on the smaller scale of local residents wondering why he scrambled out of his makeshift room to light a cigarette with such vigor. Much to his lack of surprise, the priest recognized a devious bug crawling along the crumbling walls and initiating a staring contest with him before ultimately buzzing off. It seemed the legion of eccentrics was on his tail, tracking him down once more, which added yet another layer of danger to his recent days. Between keeping the public in the dark of what has transpired these past few moments, given Vash is not the most confident in his hidden form, and Wolfwood doing everything in his power to just catch a break, there have been far too many reasons for him to feel jittery, fidgeting with his rosary.
“Trying to get in my head? Don’t count on it,” he mumbled, an echo passing on the message to whoever may have been listening in. Pleasant surprises were on the way, coming in the form of him cursing them out to oblivion and firing a round of bullets. If the group was slightly more normal, perhaps Wolfwood could view them as annoying coworkers rather than menaces and threats to modern society. However, their master had no interest in blending in with the average person. Thus, their humanity was gone without a trace.
.. As if he was that much different from them.
Assigned the number five–associated with evolution, love, and abundance–was Nicholas the Punisher, someone who could never consider himself to fit any of the three descriptions. He was the barren desert, harboring sweltering heat in the day and harsh cold in the night. He was the lonely aspect of it, no civilization for miles and no company to be found. Quite the opposite of abundance, Wolfwood felt he had no room for growth or space for changes of heart. Nevertheless, in the eyes of another–Vash, of course–he was the embodiment of said traits. The former was never the best at following his own advice, for as much as he talked about change and the world revolving, Wolfwood never felt a single aspect of his life evolve, except for one. Meanwhile, the latter thought he was unbelievably kind and compassionate, caring for his homeland in a way that was rarer than water on this planet. No love for days, Wolfwood thought, yet he valued the safety of the orphanage and its children more than himself. Ironic, was it not?
Always vigilant and preserving the walls to his heart, yet clueless about the truth, he was a walking contradiction who kept sending the wrong signals at any given time. How could one be entirely aware of the world around them, seeing its flaws and recognizing its horrors, yet so oblivious regarding his own self? With no time to explore his personality and its complexities, Wolfwood was left to his own devices at a young age, only to grow so closed off and carry his own burdens–his own cross, in a literal sense.
Once more, he was left alone to bask in solitude with no interferences, save for the unnerving bugs which zipped past his visage, before promptly being crushed in the nervous grip of his hands. A hivemind under the influence of someone so reckless like its master, Knives, was not to be messed with. One soldier down, and an army would follow–a hydra of underlings and subordinates he proceeded to send forth. Having enough of his rude intrusion, Wolfwood stepped back inside, stomping out his cigarette and letting himself rest on the edge of Vash’s bed, which appeared more like a nest.
There were moments in which, during the silent hours of the night, the priest took note of a faint vibration in Vash’s eyes as he slept. Further research and analysis indicated that the angel was dreaming–and while one would assume he fantasized of heaven and returning to his kingdom in the sky, he had no head in the clouds. Rather, his dreams were down-to-earth, and all that ran through the legendary gunman’s mind was one single person, Nicholas himself. Knowing this, the priest kept his eyes and ears peeled for the fleeting, ephemeral times where Vash kept repeating his name, as if he ached for his presence even in his sleep, as if he could not rest without his partner’s presence. This time, there was no soft voice leaving his lips.
The name “Wolfwood” was nowhere to be found today.
___
Day 5: Various intervals of time passed with concerned knocks on the door resounding through the room. Seconds, minutes, even hours–with occasional questions coming from beyond their sanctuary–passed without a doubt. All this sympathy, despite his appreciation for it, was not what Wolfwood sought however. What he needed was the wake-up call, the rationality behind the hibernation cycle and a drop of sanity in the ocean of doubt. Miraculously, Meryl Stryfe and Milly Thompson returned to their current residence. With a sigh of relief, as he registered their distinct knock in the blur of the crowd, Wolfwood dragged himself to the door and welcomed the pair with a weak smile–almost as painful as the one Vash wore on a daily basis. Thanking the girls for their arrival, their host for today proceeded to explain the ordeal, and while it was met with strange stares and overwhelming confusion, they took it well.
“He’s kind of cute, isn’t he?” A superficial reaction to the situation, but a valid one. Milly could not help but let the stars in her eyes twinkle as she examined his feathers, refraining from touching or tampering with his state, but admiring from a distance. “He shouldn’t be ashamed of looking like this, there’s nothing wrong with it! Mister Vash almost looks like.. Wait, I got it! He’s a fairy tale creature! Don’t you see it too, Ma’am?”
Meryl was not one to indulge in fairy tales, nor has she heard many from her family in the first place. Growing up in this bleak environment, she pushed aside the idea of wonderland or magic for the most part. Yet, her friends were the closest she could get to such a concept. Their existence felt magical, surreal to her senses. In the case of Vash, perhaps that was the effect Plants had on people, their ethereal beauty so captivating that it naturally drew people to them. It certainly succeeded on Wolfwood, everyone could tell. He was staring.
“Mmm.. I can see the resemblance. But if we look at the reality, he’s just like any one of us. Albeit a bit different, he needs to recover just as we do. Milly got a stomach ache some time ago, and I stayed with her and nursed her back to health. Isn’t that right?”
As humiliating as it was to admit, the brunette most certainly did get sick, and enjoyed every minute of Meryl’s presence with her. However, that did not stop Milly from rushing to cover her reddened face, all to keep her cool in front of their friend. “Ma’am, hey! You didn’t have to mention that, you were already making a good point! But it’s true, you just have to be patient! If you wanna try and wake him up again though, before you get chased out.. I may have an idea!”
Meryl, with a smile creeping up her face and laughter trickling out of her, grabbed her dear friend’s hand as she prepared to listen to what will likely be an outlandish, yet fun proposition. “Oh? And what’s that? Care to explain?”
“Just hear me out! I said before that Vash is like a fairy tale creature, he really is a legend! So if the stories are true, then.. In order to wake him up, we have to use the power of true love’s kiss! You have to do it for him, Mister Wolfwood!”
Just the thought of that made him nearly choke on air, his lungs growing tighter with each inhale and exhale. Without any hesitation, he made his stance on the idea clear to Milly.
“Absolutely not.”
In response, Meryl’s giggling grew, slapping her knee as she caught a view of Wolfwood’s absolutely perplexed expression. All three of them knew fully well that the latter was far too full of himself to ever speak the truth, to ever allow himself a second of vulnerability. Though she recognized why, considering their circumstances, the lady just could not fathom how determined this man was to keep his sworn secrets and take them to the grave. Were it not for the fact that he would likely explode if she said so, Meryl would have hit him with a blunt “get over yourself.” Instead, she opted for the next best tease.
“What, are you scared? Hah, for someone so confident about being a man of the cloth, carrying around a small confessional, you sure do have a lot to hide.”
Such jokes were only met with a shaking head from Wolfwood, and the friendly offer of a drink. He was not a very good host, after all, someone called the Punisher would never know how to welcome guests or serve them. But these were not guests, were they? These people were special to him, these were his trusted companions. Truth be told, Nicholas lived up to his name–he was independent, a lone wolf. Humans were not solitary animals, yet the debate continued on if he was the exception. Judging by how he missed all three of them on his journey across the desert.. No, Wolfwood was no different at all. He proceeded to drink the night away.
___
Day 6: Flinching at any miniscule sensation, his wings fluttering feverishly to ward off unwanted crawling bugs, Vash had completely obscured his face from view using a shield of feathers. Impenetrable, his appendages kept the traits Wolfwood loved so dearly out of sight. He had been told about the phenomenon of the angel’s bulletproof coat, which guarded him from the looming threat of death all these years. Over a century had passed and all Vash had to show for his dedication to humanity were scars that adorned his skin, trickling along each corner of his body as stars lit up the vast night sky. He truly was from the heavens, a guardian angel sent down to protect this planet. Without falter, he followed through on his orders, rescuing the endangered, solving every issue in his own special, ridiculous manner.
Was humanity really worth the effort, however? Was protecting them worth the results, worth having to conceal his entire body during moments of rare weakness? Thousands of questions ran through Wolfwood’s head during the moment. Each time he assured himself it was not his concern, he was drawn to the sight like a moth to a beckoning flame. Perhaps he understood now why Vash followed him to the ends of the planet in the same fashion, why the angel seemed to gravitate towards his touch when they were close–two celestial bodies approaching one another’s orbit, inching nearer as seconds passed.
Ideally, Vash wanted to consider Wolfwood the sun to his moon. At the center of his solar system was that priest, a divine light who shone hope onto his life and gave him the motivation to continue on. Though he tried endlessly to mimic his actions, he knew fully well that Wolfwood was far more people-oriented than he was–though the latter did not believe so in the slightest. It was no wonder they bickered constantly, they were opposing views left and right. Wolfwood, the caretaker of the Hopeland Orphanage, the purveyor of justice as the Punisher, and the average traveler who trudged across the desert carrying the weight of his burdens with no confession available, was more human than anyone. He talked about change, yet if anyone were to make that revolution possible, it would be him–with his passion for ensuring others’ safety.
In practicality, they were more of the moon and stars. Surrounding one another at every moment, always in the vicinity and within reach, yet untouchable. Too close, and they would collide, burning up within an instant. Both parties had a love brighter than a supernova, explosive and destructive, that may take both down with them. Meryl was correct–though she joked and stuck her tongue out at Wolfwood in his refutes, she presented a good point.
Nicholas D. Wolfwood, for the first time in forever, felt afraid.
In his heart was an ache, a significant burn which tore him up when he realized how many days had passed with little response. Surely he had to get back on the road soon, progressing with his journey and searching for any sign of a better future within his lifetime. Most of all, within the children’s lifetime, Miss Melanie’s life too. Wolfwood was told not to take on everyone’s responsibilities, that the point of a family was everyone doing their part and lending a hand, but old habits die hard, and here he is once more taking care of someone. Just like old times, he thought. If only he was well-versed in the care his friend needed during hibernation. Instead, he simply peered out the window, clueless to what he could add to his routine. He did just about all he could, all that was needed, and was due a period of rest of his own. Young Nico, after a long day of cleaning, cooking, and tucking his crybaby brother into bed, would look up at the stars and wonder what was out there. Nothing he would know of.
Older Nico, after a near-week of silence, would get into bed with Vash himself–gently nudging the feathers which wrapped the latter like a cocoon–and stare up at the ceiling, wondering the same exact question, except the difference was that he had slightly more of an idea on how to answer it. Out in the wild, in the wasteland, were quiet towns that had average people working to make a living and provide for their families. Out in the wild was a stifling heat that hindered others from traveling, and so they mounted a bus or a sandsteamer to speed up. Out in the desert were his friends, changing the world one step at a time. They were proud of him. Out in the desert was a cheap motel, him, and someone he cared for dearly.
This was someone who annoyed the hell out of him at times, yet that did not call for giving up. If anything, it only motivated Wolfwood further. He would annoy Vash in return until he awakened and shoved him away with his various pairs of wings. Not that he would be opposed to it, considering how soft his plumage felt.
___
Day 7: One would never find Wolfwood confessing to this or so much as thinking it, but time proved once more that love was a healing force, one which closed all wounds and set you free. Dawn rose with the twin suns arriving one by one, blessing the planet with light once again in the bitter cold. Not that the desert heat was much better, but it provided these two a better view of one another. By the time that Wolfwood opened his eyes, his gaze shot right open as he bore view to a miraculous sight. Though Vash’s wings rejected any sort of sensation, he was welcomed into the angel’s blessed body with open arms, finding himself wrapped in feathers to pull him closer and keep his warmth within range–as if it was indirectly saying, “stay with me, I need you here.” And here he was thinking that Vash was completely out cold, it turned out that his wings had a mind of their own. Perhaps this was the dichotomy of his more human and plant sides. One acted with a plethora of thoughts and feelings, the other on instinct.
Even in his sleep, Vash knew what made him tick and what his heart longed for, underneath the millions of layers of repression and secrecy. Being the only person who could read his mind and touch his soul, the angel hoped to feel connected to the last piece of their complex equation–Wolfwood’s body, no longer a lonely island. Finding the other’s wings intertwined with his waist, legs, even his thighs, was a foreign experience with no possible words to describe it. Having a perfect view of Vash in this form, one solely reserved for him, felt strange. He was invited into the angel’s shell, past the shield, their own interpretation of heaven. Just for them two.
Milly was correct as well–this truly was the material of fairy tales, of romance stories the children would always gush about or fake disgust over. They were young, after all. They had no room to comprehend the complexities of love. Wolfwood, someone who grew too fast and became a distinguished adult quickly, did. Yet despite his age and experience, he danced around every emotion hinting towards him wanting something more. Should an adult be confident, flourishing in their future? Was that part of the deal? Did confidence come with the package?
No, not at all. He would find that out within seconds.
Directly in front of Vash was the love of his life, the first thing he saw as he regained consciousness. Wolfwood was present, bewitched by his angel features, and absolutely speechless. What he searched for before was finally found, as a faint whisper echoed through their private space. Both of them were elated.
“.. Wolfwood? Is that you?” Vash said the moment his vision focused, tightening the grip on his partner as an automatic response to the situation, prolonging this second of bliss for them both. “Why did you wait for me? You could have easily walked away. Take time for yourself.”
And there he was, back to being the same old idiot that Nick knew all too well. He expected this response, it was practically the default answer his companion gave whenever any positive occurrences took place, seeming too good to be true. As if the miracle would expire and run out at any moment, Vash dismissed it, in favor of floating down to reality. Wolfwood, meanwhile, was speechless as to how he could have the audacity to suggest that.
“God, even after having a week to think over your actions, you’re still being a needle-noggin again. Do I have to knock some sense into you, or what?” He groaned, refusing to look into the eyes of someone so oblivious. That was Wolfwood’s favorite idiot, and nobody could take that from him. “Take a look at yourself. You’re pretty damn needy. I’m the only one in this whole world that gets those needs.”
By that field of logic, one would assume he knew of Vash’s hidden desires by proxy. However, nothing could prepare the priest for what happened next–an angel gracing him with strong arms thrown around his shoulders, met only with silence and a loving gaze belonging to a special someone. He was unbelievably dramatic.
“I’m not going anywhere, dumbass. I’m your guide, and a pretty good one at that. They call me your sworn ally, and they’re right about that. Now stop thinking so much.”
As stated before, Vash most certainly always followed through on the requests of others. In a moment of impulse, where his wings had a mind of their own once more–wide awake after a week of recovery, they spread all across the priest’s body in a tight embrace, going as far as to gently cup Wolfwood’s face in a moment of intimacy neither had ever foreseen. For two people who were experts in prediction, taking wild guesses on their opponent’s counters and reading each other’s minds or expressions with ease, all skills they accrued went out the window for a split second as they shifted closer and pressed their lips together. No danger encountered, no threats inbound, no need to be brave.
As they parted to catch a breath, Wolfwood chuckled in the face of his dear friend’s teary eyes, pressing his forehead onto Vash’s as they grew ever closer. After a lifetime of hopeless, empty smiles with little truth behind their glimmers, he took note of the genuine grin the latter flashed towards his loved one. Maybe Wolfwood really was the sun, after all.
“That’s my way of wishing you a good morning, Spikey. Not very conventional, but it is what it is. By the way you’re acting, I take it you missed me?”
Hungry for more of his touch, the teasing was cut short by another desperate kiss from Vash. A supposed omen of death, a legendary gunman, was currently melting in the arms of one he had gone only a week without seeing or thinking of. To both of them, it became incredibly clear that the angel missed him more than life itself. Even while sleeping and indulging in the comfort of dreams, he yearned for Wolfwood and ached to see him there. Nothing in his head could ever compare to the real world, however. Now that they both had it, what would they do? What was their next move?
They would share one more kiss, surrounded by the mess of feathers and light which poked through the gaps in Vash’s protective grasp, and cherish it. They would try again, again, and again, until they got it right.
“You don’t have to worry about me anymore. Let me take over instead.”