Archive of Our Own ^beta

Nicholas D. Wolfwood had done a lot of generally pretty shitty things for money, but this (he thought, herding his best friend towards a dark side street as a “shortcut”) was probably one of the worst.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t befriended Vash before learning that he was Knives’s runaway twin brother, or if he’d successfully managed to excise the part of him that gave a shit about anyone other than himself, or if he’d been able to convince himself that this would have been pulled off without his help, but despite everything Wolfwood was utterly shit at lying to himself, and even worse at not caring, despite his college scholarship and line of work.

He was great at lying to others, though, which was why Vash was following him into the side street—just a bit behind him, because Wolfwood had picked up the pace a little so as to not get caught up in the Gung-Ho Guns’ ambush—because, no matter what Meryl said, when push came to shove Wolfwood would do anything to get done what he needed to do.

Behind him: the sound of a metal bar smacking into someone’s head, Vash yelling out in pain. Wolfwood walked a few feet further so that he was well and truly out of the way, and then leaned against the wall of a building, pulling out his pack of cigarettes and lighting one as the sounds of a hideously one-sided fight continued behind him.

He really was just the worst ever, wasn’t he? Vash was still yelping; there was the sound of flesh hitting flesh, but no gunshots, nothing to show that his friend was fighting back even a little bit at all. Was he worried that if he used his gun, he’d accidentally hit Wolfwood? —But Vash was the best gunman Wolfwood had ever met, better than Livio, better than Razlo, even, and before meeting Vash Wolfwood would have said that wasn’t possible. Surely, if Vash tried, he could get out without accidentally hurting Wolfwood—since he still hadn’t realized that Wolfwood was his enemy, somehow—and probably without permanently damaging any of his assailants, either, since he was so into pacifism. Then—why wasn’t he—?

Wolfwood gritted his teeth and took another pull of his cigarette, refusing to look back at the fight going on behind him. This job would get him enough money to pay for student housing this semester and send something back to the orphanage besides, but there was a part of him screaming to cut and run, or to leap into the fight and defend Vash, who—judging by the sounds—was just taking it.

But he’d already accepted the job, and it wasn’t like making a different choice now would change anything for him. Plus—Wolfwood knew full well that if he didn’t accept whatever job Knives gave him, or was dumb enough to rebel against it, he wouldn’t be the one punished. Livio would be, if Razlo gave them half a chance, or the kids at the orphanage, or, if Knives was pissed enough, all three of them.

Wolfwood finished the cigarette and dropped it to the ground, crushing it under his shoe, and then lit another one, continuing to listen to Vash get beaten up and still refusing to watch. Maybe this was cowardly of him; maybe it was just sensible, if he didn’t want to watch someone he cared about get his ass wrecked. Wolfwood didn’t really care to think about which it was. Instead, he ran over his shopping list in his head—he needed milk, eggs, some more donuts because they were Vash’s favorite food—and smoked his cigarette. He had finished the second and moved on to his third by the time that the sounds of the strangely one-sided fight faded and a envelope containing a couple thousand dollars was shoved into his hands as the other Gung-Ho Guns all left the alleyway, but Wolfwood didn’t move, instead holding his cigarette in his teeth as he counted the money. It wasn’t like there was anything he could do if Knives had decided to stiff him, but maybe he could charge more for his next job—cite tuition payments, or Vash eating him out of house and home, or whatever. It probably wouldn’t get him more money, but at least he could bitch about it, or maybe refuse a job or two on the basis of needing to get another part-time job to make ends meet—but no, he’d been paid the exact agreed-upon amount, and Wolfwood found himself feeling disappointed, just a little bit.

He tucked away the money in his pocket and dropped his still-burning cigarette to the ground, crushing it under the sole of his boot before heading over to where Vash was sitting on the ground, re-attaching his prosthetic arm. Wolfwood crouched down in front of him, and Vash grinned at him through bloodied lips, his face enough of a mess of bruises to make itself unrecognizable to anyone who couldn’t recognize him by his hair, his stride, his clothes, and Wolfwood hated himself even more when Vash dropped his flesh arm and let Wolfwood finish the business of reattaching the prosthetic.

“They ripped it off?” he said, once he was confident he’d gotten it properly in place, and Vash shook his head.

“I took it off when we started down the shortcut,” Vash said, flashing another smile at Wolfwood, the sort that would have made his stomach flip at any other time but now made him feel sick with guilt. “Figured it’d only get in the way here.”

“The fuck do you mean?” Wolfwood said. 

Vash raised his eyebrows at him. “Look,” he said, “I don’t really want to risk the roommate lottery again after the semester’s already started, and we do get along—”

What.

“—and anyway, it’s way too early in the year for Knives to try to kill me. I figured, hey, why not just let it go this time? I’m a fast healer, anyway.”

“Are you high?” said Wolfwood.

“On life, baby,” Vash said with a cheeky grin, like he said every time Wolfwood asked him this question, like he hadn’t just implied that he knew Wolfwood had been hired by his insane older brother to spy on him and eventually kidnap him, that he knew Wolfwood had just led him into an ambush and stood and listened as he got the ever-living shit beat out of him even though everyone there knew Vash could have easily gotten away if he’d really wanted to.

“I’m taking you to the ER,” Wolfwood declared.

Vash kicked up a fuss about it, of course, because Vash was a fucking idiot who absolutely hated it whenever anyone tried to take care of him or help him out, but Wolfwood didn’t take no for an answer, and he managed to haul his friend all the way down the street and to the emergency room. It was packed, because the universe hated Wolfwood (first Friday night of the new semester, what the hell had he expected?), and Vash attempted to give him the slip at least three separate times before he managed to wrestle him inside and give him the medical history form to fill out.

“You know,” Vash said, tapping the pen against the less-bruised half of his lower lip, “we could be ordering pizza and getting ice cream right now.”

“Says the guy who got the shit kicked out of him by twelve motherfuckers,” said Wolfwood, who hadn’t counted, but had guessed that everyone was there, since Livio had mentioned they were working the same job that morning and Razlo had told Wolfwood to piss off and stop being a fucking coward when he’d suggested that he and Livio try to make some friends, since Wolfwood had had some success in that field and he wanted to share the wealth, and the only reason Razlo would call Wolfwood a coward for making a friend would be if he knew that the friend in question was Knives’s little brother. Otherwise, he would have called him a pussy or a wuss or a loser, probably, but not a coward.

“I only counted eleven,” said Vash.

“Yeah, you would’ve,” muttered Wolfwood.

Vash nudged him with an elbow. “You didn’t join in on the fight.”

“That was not a fight,” said Wolfwood, “and I wasn’t counting me. One of them’s actually two guys.”

“Oh, good to know,” said Vash. “Do they both want me dead, or…?”

“How the fuck am I supposed to know?” Wolfwood snapped.

Vash raised his eyebrows at him, and then turned back to the intake form. “Maybe you had a guess.”

“If I had a guess…” Wolfwood thought back to Livio and Razlo. This was treason, probably, but he was pissed enough at how crowded the ER was tonight that he didn’t give a shit, and anyway, Knives had said something about protecting Vash from non-Knives-related threats when he’d hired him, anyway. “Depends on a couple factors, I’d say. One of ‘em, if he’s paid or threatened—or his family—then yeah, he’d want you dead. The other…more of a loose cannon, really. He likes to get into fights. I’d say he isn’t gunning for you personally right now, but in the future, maybe. If it gets personal.”

Or if one of them realized it had gotten personal. Which Razlo might have, depending on how you interpreted his text earlier, but it seemed like he was mad at Wolfwood for giving a shit about Vash and not Vash for being someone Wolfwood cared about, so it was probably okay. But that was the thing about family, the thing Wolfwood and Vash both knew all too well: it bit you in the ass like nothing else in the world ever could.

“Thanks!” Vash said, grinning at Wolfwood and going back to filling out the form. Wolfwood grunted—he did not think this was the sort of thing Vash should be thanking him for, but he didn’t want to tip him off about his real loyalties, so he held his tongue. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and pulled out his texts—a couple from Millie, about homework in their shared Physics class, and one from Meryl asking his coffee order, since she was planning on getting everyone free coffees tomorrow morning for their 8 AM Philosophy course, and, finally, a text from Livio, asking him if he wanted to get dinner after a job well done. 

Wolfwood glanced over at Vash, still studiously filling out his emergency room paperwork. He wouldn’t mind if Wolfwood left to grab dinner with his brother; he’d probably be relieved more than anything else, since that would mean that he could sneak out of the emergency room without getting treated.

niko
sorry, can’t
part of my job is babysitting the stampede and i think the boss would genuinely kill me if i let him get away w/o visiting the er tonight

crybaby
Shit sucks

niko
yeah
tell razlo hi from me?

crybaby
Or you could come over and tell him yourself

niko
and if vash recognizes you from tonight? not risking it
i’ll come over when the job is done

Livio didn’t respond, and Wolfwood didn’t get any texts from Razlo, either, so he sent Meryl his coffee order and promised to pay her back the cost of a blueberry muffin and then told Millie that he and Vash were waiting in the ER, and so he hadn’t had the chance to get started on their homework, either. He glanced back over at Vash—still writing on the forms—and then put his phone away and took out his class notes to try and get some studying done, because if he’d gone to so much trouble to pay for room and board he absolutely had to keep his grades up.

Vash finished with the forms, and Wolfwood accompanied him up to the reception desk to turn them in. It was already dark outside, and he found himself wishing they weren’t here—but you had to face the consequences of your actions. You had to do your penance, maybe, and maybe that was making sure your idiot friend actually saw a doctor after you’d gotten him beat up instead of getting dinner with your little brother.

Shit was fucked, that was the best estimation Wolfwood could give, and he’d had a hand in making it fucked, and that sucked shit but it was his own fault and he’d do it again so there was no point in worrying about it. Tonight would end and he and Vash would go back to their dorm. The semester would end and he’d trick Vash back to Knives. The year would end and he’d be somewhere else, doing something else, no longer even thinking about tonight and how much it sucked. That was the way of the world.

And if he wished it wasn’t like this, then that was nobody’s business but his own.