Work Text:
There’s not much to say about those two years. He’d dropped Meryl off after making sure she wouldn’t get herself immediately killed, then went about as he always did, new state of the world be damned.
A few iles east of the crater that used to be July there was a lighthouse turned church. After the bomb, as most called it, a lot of people had been looking for faith. He’d been looking for a career change.
He’d thought - well, not even too sure what he thought. Thought maybe religion - the real deal, this time - would fix him. It didn’t. It’s a long story but kind of a short one, and Miss Melanie still asks when he’ll come back, according to the shortstack. He thinks he’s had enough of nosy reporters.
Still, she was increasingly a good pair of eyes and ears. He’d had to hear it from her: KNIVES written in big stupid letters, South Cornelia. Zazie hadn’t even given him the grace of a forewarning this time. He could almost laugh at the absurdity of the situation, so instead he grimaces around his cigarette.
Hell.
—
“Good afternoon, ma’am. How are you?” he’d said, tipping his hat and stubbing out his cigarette in deference.
“Oh, just fine,” Sheryl responded, “How about yourself?”
“Good, good.”
They took refuge in the shade like this for some time, in comfortable silence save for the creak of Sheryl’s rocking chair and the snip-snip of Lina’s scissors just beyond.
“So, you’re the one to take my boy away from me, eh?” she said, tone friendly but eyes hidden behind the shine of her reading glasses.
For a moment there was only the buzzing of baby worms - summer was coming.
“Oh, relax,” she chuckled at his expression, “Hand me a smoke, would you? Times are hard on this old lady, too.”
He obligingly pulled a stick from the pack in his coat pocket, fumbling slightly with the lighter like he hadn’t since he was eight. She took it from him gratefully, taking a long first drag.
“Thank you, dearie,” she sighed, a sizable cloud of smoke billowing out, “I needed that.”
She continued like that for a few minutes, slowly puffing and looking into the distance as he waited for what she was going to say next.
“Lina’s a tough girl, but her life’s been hard,” she finally started, “After Alex became a part of the family, it was the happiest I’d seen her in a while.”
“I’m truly sorry ma’am,” he said genuinely, “I know how much he must mean to you and -”
“Let me finish my story,” she silenced him with a hand, “Y’see, it’d just been me and her for a while. Lina’s mother - my daughter, the day she got married I walked her down the aisle an’ everything. That very afternoon she moved up with her new husband to fancy New Oregon, see,” She took a deep drag of her cigarette.
“Then not a year later, my cousin shows up with baby Lina in her arms, neither parent anywhere to be found. In hindsight, the last day I saw my little girl was the day I gave her away.” Her eyes were suddenly wet and far away.
He, too, looked away. He’d seen and heard this sort of thing more than enough times to know.
She drew in a shaky breath and continued. “No parent should ever have to bury their children. It just ain’t right.”
“You seem like a smart young man,” Sheryl said, the quiver now leaving her voice, “So you must understand what I mean when I say I’m giving him to you.”
A worm buzzed even louder somewhere nearby. He thought he could feel the heat getting to him.
He’d looked at her then, as solemn as he could manage it. “I do,” he said, which was the truth, “I promise, ma’am. I’ll do my best.”
“Good, good,” she said, amusement crinkling her eyes. She patted his hand, “I know you will.”
They stayed like that for a bit, Wolfwood awkwardly holding his hand out as Sheryl continued mindlessly patting it. Soon enough the horizon bit into the sun, the air turned lavender, and the tenor of the worms grew an almost delicate edge. He couldn’t hear Lina’s scissors anymore.
“Well, that’s enough of that,” Sheryl said, breaking the spell and drawing up from her chair, “It’s dinnertime! I’m sure you must be hungry.”
“Ma’am, I couldn’t possibly impose -”
“Nonsense,” she waved him off, “and who said you weren’t helping? Alex mentioned you’re something of a cook, so you better not disappoint. Come along, now!”
An involuntary grin broke across his face and he followed her back in, laughing.
—
Normally he slept like a rock - had to take full advantage of every opportunity to rest in his past line of work. Not to mention the couch was easily in the top ten of surfaces he’s had to sleep on.
Yet here he was, leaning out the window with a smoke. Maybe he was getting soft, maybe it was another nightmare he wouldn’t remember, or maybe it was another prick from the longstanding guilt that yawned like heartburn at the base of his throat - as for what, he wasn’t too sure yet. Two years was a long time, but also very little. It didn’t fare well to dwell on it.
The soft pad of footsteps behind him, familiar enough to know how to avoid the floorboards that creaked.
“Can’t sleep?” Came Vash’s voice, closer to a whisper so as not to wake company.
He gave a slight shrug, glancing at Vash in his periphery. He was shrouded in sea-like shadow from where he was, leaning against the wall next to Wolfwood’s window.
“Could say the same to you,” Wolfwood offered, after a moment.
Vash hmmed , “Thought I heard you get up. Figured I’d stretch my legs if I was gonna be awake anyways.”
“Go take a walk or something then.”
“Nah,” Vash said, “I think I’m good.”
There was a smile in his voice. For someone who would soon have to leave the closest thing he had to family, he seemed to be in a good mood.
The night stretched into the space between them. With the light of the moons sowing onto the dust motes in the living room, the air somehow felt heavy with quiet, on its tiptoes and rising with the swimming grays. This far from the city proper, the stars were clear enough to count.
They continued like that, like two phones on hold, Vash politely resting his gaze on an indeterminate point towards the mantle, Wolfwood with his veil of smoke.
“Come with me,” Vash said simply after Wolfwood finished his third cig. He couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at that, turning to ensure Vash could see it.
“I’ve got no problems with the couch, if you’re just trying to be considerate,” Wolfwood said, carefully. He wasn’t entirely sure what Vash was getting at, though if it was what he thought it might be, he personally wasn't too keen to get it on in Vash’s adoptive mom’s thinly-walled house.
“Just come with me,” Vash rolled his eyes, “Sheryl won’t even notice, promise.”
“Sure,” he said without inflection, replacing the unlit fourth cigarette back in its package on the sill.
When they got to Vash’s room, the man in question all but threw himself face first onto the bed like Wolfwood wasn’t there. After a beat he followed suit, wrangling blankets to his side before the other monopolized them all. Once they were settled in, Vash got on his side and just looked at him, smiling a little.
“I still can’t believe Sheryl made you sleep out in the living room! She’d sooner kick me onto the floor than have a guest on the couch.” His whisper had gained a conspiratorial edge, like they were ten year olds at a slumber party.
“So?” Wolfwood raised an unimpressed eyebrow. Would hardly be the first time someone had it out for him. Did Vash drag him away from his smokes just to… what, gossip?
“Just thought it was funny.”
And Wolfwood was about to be hilarious if Vash didn’t get to his point or let him sleep.
Infuriatingly, Vash only giggled, still staring at him with those dumb big blue eyes, and Wolfwood couldn’t tell if it was an expectant look.
He wasn’t really in the mood, but hey, they didn’t have to go very far - and maybe Vash was just asking for a handsy cuddle in that roundabout way of his. He leaned forward with an intentional touch to Vash’s hip, but was met with a hand to his face, effectively tilting his head away.
“Nooooo,” Vash whined, “too tired. Just sleep.”
Ah, okay. Got it. Literally whatever.
“Go to sleep then,” he said, “and quit staring at me like that.”
Vash sighed, but in the weirdly sincere way he’d sigh around Wolfwood sometimes.
“Thank you,” he said, as if anything this guy said ever made sense.
“About time, ” Wolfwood said, “Saving your goody-goody ass from looking like a cheese grater is about as fun as -”
“For coming back. And for dinner, earlier,” Vash cut him off.
Well, fine, ignore everything Wolfwood was in the middle of saying. What else was new?
“Don’t mention it,” he grumbled. Four people was far from the most mouths he’s had to cook for. Which, speaking of, “Are you still gonna fast when we’re on the move?” he asked, speedrunning logistics in his head.
“Maybe,” Vash answered, “I honestly haven’t decided yet. I’ve been waiting for the chance to do this for a while, so I wanna finish it out, if I can.”
There were still a couple weeks left in Ramadan. There’d also been an imam at the local mosque who’d seen the curiosity on Wolfwood’s face and generously answered his questions.
“Fair enough.”
“But really,” Vash yawned, “Dinner was… nice. It took me back to, ah, sharing a meal with some people very dear to me. During iftaar.”
He blinked and couldn’t help but feel his heart skip a beat at the honesty - Vash was an incredibly guarded individual. He wasn’t sure what prompted the sudden earnesty.
If he were being honest, it had also reminded him of a some of his dear people - of the crackle of the pan on the stove as Miss Melanie prepped for La Novena, the squeals of Eyla chasing Zuli through the kitchen, the tiredness in his feet but also the bright cloud of sounds in the air. His heart hurt.
“Yeah,” he croaked, and shit, the way his voice sounded there was plain embarrassing, “Anytime.”
Whatever look Wolfwood had on his face, Vash must’ve found it funny, because he laughed quietly, the sound warm like the sun glinting off bed covers on the clothesline. The corners of his smile quirked up with a kind of patience that Wolfwood wasn’t familiar with.
Like this, it felt like he was only just fully taking in the sight of Vash, hair down and features unobscured by glasses. He looked tired in a way he didn’t normally let others see, face slack with oncoming sleep, but the lines of him had softened in the low light. An inexplicable fondness rose in Wolfwood’s chest, and he was suddenly desirous to press a smile to the mess of hair over Vash’s temple. There seemed to be a pull in his chest, like an organ trying to climb up the ladder of his throat hand over hand, like a reach that felt sore.
Vash yelped as he got hit over the head by a pillow.
“Can it,” Wolfwood griped. Vash pouted and Wolfwood turned away to stare straight at the ceiling, hands behind his head.
He had a feeling he knew what was happening to him; maybe he should’ve never fooled around with the guy two years ago. Textbook rookie mistake, if there ever were such manuals for hitmen working under a man-made alien pseudo-deity.
He also really didn’t want to deal with whatever the hell tonight was turning out to be, so he flipped over and resolutely closed his eyes. Vash was still chortling.
—
They set off early the next morning, the yard thomas having not even crowed. They waved back to the two women on the porch, Wolfwood a few respectful steps away while Vash bent down to hug Lina for a long moment.
Sheryl held Wolfwood’s gaze evenly, giving him a slight nod. For all the posturing, she’d hugged him earlier, sincere, and sent him off with a box of dried dates.
With that, the pair turned to the horizon, the wind at their backs.