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The first time Vash noticed something off, it was two weeks after his reunion with Wolfwood as “Eriks.”
They were tucked away in the corner table of a nameless bar in a nameless town. Vash set down his whiskey glass with a satisfied sigh, relishing the burn in his throat. “I’m gonna go get another drink,” he announced. “Want anything?”
Wolfwood, who’d braced his elbow on the table and had his chin in his palm, didn’t respond. It took Vash a moment to register his closed eyes, the steady rise and fall of his chest.
He was asleep.
“Hey, Wolfwood? Can ya hear me?”
Like he’d been shocked, Wolfwood shot upright. “I’m up, I’m up!” he blurted out, blinking hard. Without thinking, Vash leaned forward and laid his hand over Wolfwood’s.
“Easy,” he soothed. “It’s okay. We can go back to the room, if you need.”
Wolfwood’s gaze settled on him, and the tension seeped from his frame. “Oh. Nah, I’m good. What were you sayin’?”
Vash frowned, but repeated himself anyway. “I’m running up to the bar for another drink, and I asked if you wanted anything. When I saw you were asleep—”
“I wasn’t asleep.”
“Whatever. I didn’t want to leave you here by yourself without lettin’ you know where I was, that’s all.”
Wolfwood stared at him, an unreadable expression on his face, before nodding. “Well, thanks for that. If you’re still going for drinks, could you get me another beer?” He reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a pack of cigarettes, swiftly lighting one before tucking the rest away again.
“Sure,” Vash replied, despite his suspicion. “Be right back.”
From that point on, Vash began keeping a relatively close eye on Wolfwood. That’s how he began to notice all the little things: the circles getting darker beneath his eyes, his increasingly ashen complexion, the number of cigarettes he smoked in a day climbing higher and higher. The designated “rest breaks” on their hikes began to get longer and longer, but each night, Wolfwood would be the first to volunteer for lookout duty.
They were still a day away from the next town when Vash decided to confront this issue. He helped set up camp for the night, like usual, while Wolfwood lit the fire. “I’ll keep watch, needle-noggin. Why don’t you get some shut-eye?”
Vash made his move. “Actually, I figured I’d keep watch. Take the night off. I got this.”
Wolfwood stiffened, sitting up from where he’d been leaning back against the Punisher. Something flitted through his gaze, but it was gone before Vash could read it. He watched as Wolfwood stubbed out his cigarette in the sand.
“Have it your way,” he sighed, crawling under their makeshift tent. He shrugged off his suit jacket and spread it out on the ground. “Night, Vash.”
“Goodnight, Wolfwood. Sleep well.”
That last part might have been overkill, considering that Vash knew exactly what was going to happen.
He let Wolfwood lay there for an hour, still and quiet, before finally speaking again. “How stupid do you think I am?”
Wolfwood’s “sleeping” form winced. He sat up, and the truth was obvious to Vash more than ever.
“You haven’t been sleeping.”
Wolfwood scowled. “What are you talking about? Of course I’ve been—”
“That wasn’t a question, Wolfwood,” Vash said firmly. His gaze softened, and he frowned. Wolfwood looked away as though the sight of Vash physically pained him.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered.
“Why not?” Vash asked gently. “I’m worried about you.”
“You shouldn’t be! Not after….” Wolfwood scoffed, tearing a hand through his messy hair. “Fuckin’ hell, Vash.”
“Not after what, Nick?” Vash switched to a nickname, hoping it would ease him down, but instead Wolfwood flinched like he’d been burned. “Talk to me.”
“I can’t sleep, okay! I just can’t!” Wolfwood scrubbed at his weathered face, chest heaving for breath. His hands were trembling as he lowered them.
“One minute,” he rasped, “I’m minding my own in Augusta, planning to come find ya cause I heard you were in town.”
Vash’s heart sank.
“The next, Augusta is in fuckin’ ruin and there’s a new crater in the fifth moon.” Wolfwood’s voice broke. His eyes glimmered in the dim light as a single tear slid down his stubbled cheek. “What if I wake up and you’re gone again, Vash? I couldn’t…I don’t know what I’d—”
“Nicholas.”
Wolfwood’s breath hitched, more tears streaming down his face. Vash’s own eyes burned as he crawled over and opened his arms. Wolfwood sank against him without hesitation, trembling and sniffling as his tears soaked Vash’s shoulder. Vash shushed him gently, rubbing a hand up and down his back as Wolfwood latched on to the back of his coat. “Deep breaths, honey. It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”
Wolfwood sobbed harder at his words, pressing his face further against Vash as though it would hide him. Vash said nothing of it, only continuing to whisper soft reassurances as Wolfwood’s tears slowed to a stop.
They sat like that for a while even after Wolfwood calmed down. Vash continued to rub his back and ruffle his hair as Wolfwood melted against him with a muffled whimper. “Aw, sweetheart. You’re so tired, huh?”
Wolfwood muttered something that sounded distinctly like shut up.
Vash giggled. “Shh,” he murmured. “C’mere, I have an idea.”
He reached between them and began undoing the buttons on his coat until he could finally shrug it off. Then Vash shuffled back and guided Wolfwood down until he was laying with his head in Vash’s lap. Wolfwood squinted up at him through droopy eyelids that quickly fell shut as Vash continued to play with his hair.
“V’sh…” he mumbled—without opening his eyes—as Vash added the final touch: his own beloved red coat as a blanket.
“I’m here, Nick. Go to sleep for me, okay? You’ll feel worlds better when you wake up,” Vash soothed.
Wolfwood clumsily pulled his new blanket tighter around himself, pressing his face into Vash’s thighs. “Don’ go nowhere…” he slurred.
Vash fought back a grin, knowing better than to laugh. He was really beginning to like sleepy Wolfwood. “I won’t sweetheart. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
Wolfwood relaxed further, saying nothing else, but Vash knew better than to assume he was asleep; his breathing wasn’t nearly even enough. He racked his brain, trying to remember what used to help him fall asleep when he couldn’t, and immediately had an idea.
He pictured Rem’s face, her smile, her voice, and began to sing.
“So…on the first evening a pebble,
From somewhere out of nowhere drops upon our dreaming world….”
Wolfwood was asleep in less than a minute.
Sensation poured back in slowly: sand clinging to the hem of his pants, the excessive warmth of a blanket on top of the desert heat, the all-encompassing smells of sand and honey and citrus. Wolfwood groaned, pressing his face into his pillow until he remembered it wasn’t a pillow at all.
“Vash?” he asked drowsily.
“Good afternoon, sweetheart,” came the voice of his angel. “Sleep well?”
“Afternoon?” he grumbled, back protesting as he sat up.
“Yeah, if I had to guess I’d say it’s around one,” Vash confirmed.
Wolfwood groaned, digging the heel of his hand into his eye, hoping to rub the sleep out of it. “Why didn’t you wake me, needle-noggin?”
“You needed the rest, and that takes priority,” he replies, as if it’s obvious. “Besides, we might be able to get to the next town by nightfall if we hustle.”
Wolfwood groaned again. “I think I’m gonna look for another motorcycle to buy,” he muttered. “We got some expendable cash, right? I’m sick of these stupid hikes through the desert.”
Vash chuckled, brushing Wolfwood’s messy hair back from his forehead. “You sure both of us could fit on one bike?” he asked.
“I’ll put a sidecar on it,” Wolfwood answered. Vash laughed again and leaned closer, pressing a kiss to Wolfwood’s hair.
“Sounds like a plan,” he said solemnly. “In the meantime, you up to keep walking? Once we’re in town and have a hotel room, you can sleep for as long as you want.”
Wolfwood had half a mind to tell Vash to forget about this whole thing, including his utterly pathetic moment of weakness. Instead, he found himself thinking about it all again—Vash’s hands and voice, soothing over wounds that even Wolfwood himself hadn’t known could run so deep. He wanted to ask about the song Vash had sung him to sleep with, but decided that was a conversation to be had in the comfort of a hotel room.
Vash had already begun to clean up, burying the ashes of their fire and gathering their supplies. He hadn’t even asked for his coat back yet; Wolfwood still held it, fingers brushing absently over the many buttons and buckles.
“Hey, needles?” he asked.
Vash turned to him, eyes like oases in the sea of sand. “Yeah, Nick?”
I’m sorry.
Can we never speak of that ever again?
Why do you care so much?
“Thank you,” Wolfwood said, instead of all those things.
Vash’s smile—the real one, Wolfwood’s absolute favorite—was well worth what still felt like a blow to his pride.
“Anytime, preacher man. Ready to go?”
Wolfwood was as ready as he’d ever be.