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"Wolfwood, I don't feel good."
Wolfwood glances to the side. Sitting in the sidecar Vash is sweating—Vash never sweats—and heaving out puffs of air with a pinched expression. They escaped from a group of bounty hunters just twenty minutes ago, able to run away on his motorcycle before getting seriously injured. Well, more injured than the few bullets Vash caught on his abdomen that were meant for Wolfwood. Wolfwood had assumed the injury would heal enough until they created enough distance between them and the hunters, and found a place to stop and patch him up.
Wolfwood turns his gaze back toward the orange horizon. “Yeah? What’s wrong?”
“Dizzy,” Vash groans.
Wolfwood raises a brow at that. He spots a rock formation in the distance, good enough to pit stop. Shutting off the engine, Wolfwood dismounts his bike and helps Vash climb out of the sidecar. Vash struggles to stand upright so Wolfwood guides him down to lie on the sand. He writhes on the ground with a clenched jaw and eyes closed. Wolfwood unbuttons Vash’s coat, pulls up his under armour, and finds out what is giving him grief.
Fuck.
"How does it look?" Vash grits.
The bullets poisoned him. The skin around the bullet wounds is inflamed and tinted with dark green residue. Vash’s body hasn't pushed out the bullets, healing stunted. "Not good," Wolfwood swallows. He inwardly curses at Vash for taking the bullets and at himself for being in the line of fire.
"What?"
Wolfwood doesn’t want him to panic but– "The bullets were poisonous."
"Ah," Vash says numbly, almost nonchalantly. He doesn't say anything else.
Wolfwood stares at the wounds while Vash takes deep breaths. Vash trembles as the toxin wrecks through his body.
“Okay,” Wolfwood says. “Let’s patch you up before it gets worse.” He moves to stand but Vash halts him with a tug on his pants.
“Don’t—don’t go,” Vash whimpers, eyes hazy.
The poison is getting to him. His usual clear blue eyes are cloudy, etched with pain, unable to mask the discomfort. He blinks rapidly, trying to rid the blurriness in his vision but it will be a while before it clears. Lucidity escapes him, vocalizing an insecurity that Wolfwood would leave him like this. Wolfwood’s heart clenches at the sight.
Wolfwood takes Vash’s hand in his. “I need to clean the wound,” he stresses.
Vash’s lips wobble as he continues to tug Wolfwoodback. “Just give me a minute, I’m fine.”
He’s not fine. Wolfwood racks his brain to find a way to soothe him. An idea comes to mind. He takes off his jacket and places it over Vash’s sternum. “Here. So you know I’m not going anywhere without you.”
It seems to do the trick. Vash pulls away and tentatively touches the fabric on top of him. He then cradles the jacket in his arms and drags the collar up towards his nose, closing his eyes as he inhales the scent clinging to it. He lets out a content sigh as if the piece of clothing gives him a bit of comfort. It does funny things to Wolfwood’s insides. Wolfwood shakes his head and focuses on what he has to do.
With Vash satisfied for the time being, Wolfwood grabs their medical kit from their travel bag—bandages, stitches, needles, and alcohol—and places it next to Vash. First things first, he needs to remove the bullets. Thankfully, he doesn’t need to dig into Vash’s guts to get them out. They are protruding as Vash’s body did half the work of extricating them. Wolfwood pinches the area around one and Vash gasps as the first bullet is removed, blood and pus following. Vash writhes and coughs wetly under him until the last bullet is out. It joins the rest of the bullets that were flicked away, to be buried under the sand.
Poisonous residue on his fingers, Wolfwood disinfests them with alcohol. He pours the liquid on a somewhat clean rag and wipes any remaining poison and blood on the wounds. Vash makes a garbled sound from the sting of the alcohol, flinching away. Wolfwood holds him still with a palm on his chest as he rubs off the green substance that’s coursing through Vash. This is the best that Wolfwood can do while out in the middle of the desert.
Should’ve been me Wolfwood thinks, gritting his teeth. His vials would’ve taken care of it easily.
Wolfwood hears a low humming tone emit from Vash’s throat, obscured behind the whines. He has heard it before, during the few times Vash gets seriously injured. The noise sounds eerie, something otherworldly that Wolfwood can only discern as being from the inhuman part of Vash. A self-soothing hum while his body shivers to fight the toxin. Glancing at his face twisted in pain, Wolfwood spots tiny feathers sprout across Vash’s features.
Done wiping as best he can, Wolfwood lets Vash catch his breath before he starts stitching. Wolfwood brushes away the stray hairs clinging to Vash’s forehead. Vash turns and chases the touch. Wolfwood indulges him and scratches his scalp. He pulls away to grab a needle and a thread and Vash sniffles at the loss.
Wordlessly, Wolfwood stitches the wounds. Vash wheezes at his skin being pierced. It also seems like it’s a good time for him to babble.
"I'm glad it's me and not you,” Vash wheezes. “I don’t want you taking any more vials."
Wolfwood bites back his retort. Better than you suffering like this. He lets Vash continue to talk in his delirium if it helps distract him from the pain.
“You’re so good to me.” Vash grips the fabrics of Wolfwood’s pants.
Ridiculous. All he’s doing is making sure Vash doesn’t die out here in the desert. Wolfwood ignores him. However, can’t ignore the next words that come out of Vash’s mouth, stilling his movements.
"I—love you."
It’s a wonder that in his shock, he didn't injure Vash further with the needle. He moves his hands away and exhales. His hands shake.
Vash chokes on his words, tugging him to get his attention. "Wolfwood, I—"
"Stop. Talking." Wolfwood hisses, shutting Vash’s words down. Squaring his jaw, Wolfwood closes his eyes that prickle with frustration with Vash’s distress affecting him. “You’re going to be fine.”
Vash whines at being denied, then whispers, "Okay." He hides his face with the collar of Wolfwood’s jacket.
Wolfwood is not in the mood to deal with that right now. It's as if Vash thinks he’s going to die and wants to get the words out. The confession implies Vash doesn’t think he’s going to make it. They don't talk about their feelings, Wolfwood is content with not saying anything, but it seems like Vash wants to change that. Wolfwood is not giving him the chance to do it like this, in the desert, out of his mind. The rest of the wounds are stitched up in silence except for Vash’s pants.
Throwing the needle and the leftover thread in the kit, Wolfwood collects his bearings for a moment and sits back on the sand. He glances at the sun disappearing into the horizon. “We’re gonna go find a hotel. You’re not staying out here.” While the desert is deadly hot during the day, the cold at night can be just as bad, almost freezing as the environment doesn’t retain heat after an hour or two after sundown. The cold can make Vash’s condition worse.
Vash alerts at that, pulling away the jacket covering his face. “No,” he gasps, eyes panicked. “I’m okay, really. We can stay here, I’ll be fine—” He twitches, hands digging into the sand to sit up but doesn’t have the strength to do so.
Wolfwood startles at Vash’s sudden anxiety and insists on staying out in the cold night desert like this. He places a hand on his chest to keep him down while Vash fruitlessly struggles.
“We are going,” Wolfwood enunciates.
“Please, I’m—”
“No.” Wolfwood’s eyes meet his dead on. “We’re going and that’s final.” He feels bad for being harsh while Vash is sick but he’s being unreasonable and he needs him to relax lest his stitches come undone.
Wolfwood takes a deep breath. “Just, let me take care of you.”
Vash whines in protest but is too weak to argue back or pretend that he’s fine. He settles back on the sand.
Wolfwood places a hand on Vash’s cheek. “I’m gonna help you up and cover you with bandages, alright?”
Vash nods and lets out a noise of acknowledgement. Wolfwood takes his jacket back and helps him sit up with an arm around his back. Upright, Vash slaps a hand to his mouth and heaves. Wolfwood curses, quickly guiding him to vomit on the sand instead of his lap. Vash whimpers while he coughs up bile and blood, face covered in cold sweat and feathers. Wolfwood combs his damp hair back in a soothing gesture and holds him up so he doesn’t fall face-first into the sand. Vash slumps against him.
Wolfwood carefully wraps a bandage roll around Vash’s abdomen, fastens his coat, and lifts him. “Okay,” he whispers to himself. Vash is deadweight in his arms, head lolling on his shoulder and shifting between consciousness and unconsciousness. Wolfwood glances at the sidecar. He doesn’t want to leave him in the sidecar, suspecting Vash won’t like it either, but how else he’s supposed to drive? His suspicions are confirmed when Vash snuffles and grasps his lapels weakly as he seats him in the sidecar.
“Okay, okay, let me just—” Wolfwood reaches into their bags to search for the spare water they saved up. He draws the flask up to Vash’s lips. “Drink.” Vash turns his head away and hums a noise of complaint. “You need to drink,” Wolfwood stresses. He raises the flask back to Vash’s lips and encourages him with a hand on his nape. Vash grimaces but reluctantly takes sips of water. Vash almost finishes the water before he turns his head away, not wanting anymore, and slouches into the sidecar. The flask is put away and Wolfwood straddles his bike for a moment.
“C-can I—”
He turns to look at Vash—he looks miserable, blinking slowly and fringe obscuring his vision. Vash raises a shaky hand, reaching for him. Wolfwood gets off the bike. He reaches down as Vash reaches up for him.
Wolfwood picks him up with an arm around his back and under his thighs. Vash clings to him with his limps around him. Wolfwood sits back on the bike with him on his lap and a hand to steady him against his front. Steering will be a pain with one hand but he can handle it. He turns on the engine and they make their way to the nearest town.
Vash’s clammy forehead sticks to his neck while he drives. The humming returns, softer, accompanied by a rumbling that Wolfwood can feel with him pressed against his chest. An hour into the journey it's replaced by shivers. As Wolfwood is pulling up near an inn, Vash is panting into his skin, fever fully setting in.
Somehow carrying the Punisher and their stuff on his back with Vash in his arms, Wolfwood pays for two nights—the lady at the front desk stares at Vash while Wolfwood gives her a look, daring her to say something—and enters the room.
Dropping their belongings to the floor, Wolfwood places a barely conscious Vash on a chair. He makes quick work on removing his clothes, shoes, and prosthetic, replacing them with a shirt and baggy pants. Vash sways in the chair. Wolfwood takes out as much sand as he can from Vash's hair, combing through it with his fingers, before settling him into the bed and pulling the sheets over his body.
Wolfwood touches Vash’s forehead. It’s burning. "Vash," he calls.
Vash flutters his eyes open and slowly turns his gaze towards him.
"I'm gonna get something for the poison." He doesn’t want to leave but Vash needs an antidote.
Vash shakes his head. "I’m fine, stay," he rasps weakly.
Wolfwood looks at him softly. He removes his jacket and shakes out the sand on it. "Here." He places it beside Vash's head. Vash reaches for it and hugs it. Wolfwood rests a hand on his head. "I won't take long." Vash makes a noise of protest in reply.
Wolfwood leaves the Punisher behind as he leaves the inn—it will be quicker without it—and out into the cold night air. There’s a small shop half an ile from the inn. The clerk spares him a glance as he enters, blinded by the fluorescent lighting of the store. Wolfwood scans each aisle—canned food, alcohol, bullets—until he comes across a tiny medicine section. A bottle catches his eye. Its label says ‘worm poison’. Wolfwood hopes it’ll work on Vash. He also grabs a jug of water before dropping more than enough double dollars on the counter, not wasting time on the clerk to count the money. He heads back out into the cold and rushes back to Vash.
Entering the room, Vash hasn’t moved from his position, still clutching his jacket. Closer, Vash wheezes out puffs of air as his face contorts in pain while dozing. Wolfwood brushes a hand on his temple, touching the stray feathers, coaxing him awake. Vash’s eyes flicker open and he blinks slowly at him with dilated pupils. He closes his eyes back as if keeping them takes a lot of effort. Wolfwood moves his hand to touch his neck and feel his pulse—too slow from the usual rapid beat.
Wolfwood prepares a flask with water and uncaps the medicine bottle. With a hand under Vash’s head, he lifts the bottle to his lips. Vash purses his lips.
“Vash you need to drink, it’ll help,” Wolfwood urges.
Vash heaves out a breath and relents, allowing Wolfwood to tilt his head and guide the liquid into his mouth. He scrunches his nose and grumbles at the taste. Wolfwood quickly replaces the medicine with water which Vash gladly drinks to wash away the taste. Vash sighs in brief relief and settles back on the pillows, dozing off again. Placing the water on the nightstand beside the antidote, Wolfwood lets out a tense exhale as he stands beside the bed.
Now, he waits.
He doesn’t like waiting—for Vash to get better or to get worse. Wolfwood decides to keep himself busy to occupy his mind. He changes out of his suit into a plain shirt and pants. Gathering his and Vash’s attire, he strides to the bathroom. He keeps the door and an ear open, ready if Vash needs him while he scrubs the clothes in the bathtub, ridding them of sand and blood. Mundane but it’s something to do. The wet clothes are left hanging on the towel rack as they dry. Except for Vash’s coat, in which he stitches the bullet holes while sitting on the toilet seat. Once patched, it joins the rack.
He’s only killed an hour.
In the main room, Wolfwood grabs a chair and drags it beside the bed to sit. Resting against its back, he stares at Vash’s form, restless while he tries to sleep off his fever. He sighs alone in the room. Wolfwood lasts another hour of staring before his eyes start to droop. He rests his upper body on the bed with his arms pillowing his head, falling asleep.
“Wolfwood?”
He hears a tiny voice calling him. Startling awake, he hones in on Vash who is covering his mouth and heaving. Shit.
Wolfwood jumps into action, ripping the sheets off and quickly lifting Vash out of bed. He’s burning under Wolfwood’s hands. Vash holds back his sickness while Wolfwood darts to the bathroom and sets him down to hover over the toilet bowl. Vash clutches the edge of it, coughing up bile while Wolfwood soothes a hand on his clammy neck and down his back. Spitting out the remains of the acidic taste, Vash whimpers trying to take off his shirt, the piece of clothing giving him grief. Wolfwood helps him take off the damp shirt and throws the shirt off to the side. He spots more feathers peppering Vash’s skin, likely getting caught on the fabric.
Vash slumps against him. Wolfwood wraps his arms
“I’m so tired…” Vash whines.
Wolfwood cards a hand into his sweaty hair, hoping it provides some respite from the pain. “I know.”
Wolfwood carries Vash back to the bed. He feeds Vash the medicine and water again and settles him back under the sheets. Vash turns towards him.
“Can you lie with me?” he says with pleading eyes.
Wolfwood can’t deny him. He manages a tired smile and climbs into the bed to lie beside him. Vash instantly latches onto him with a hand on his front and almost knocks his head against Wolfwood’s while shuffling closer, nose bumping his cheek. He tucks his head under Wolfwood’s chin. Wolfwood drapes an arm over him while the other pillows his head. Vash shivers against him.
“I'm sorry,” Vash mumbles in a shaky tone. “I’m—”
“It's okay, go to sleep, angel.” The nickname slips. “Just don’t get sick on me.”
Vash doesn’t settle down, his body is still tense. “No, for earlier. Out in the desert.”
Wolfwood massages a hand on Vash’s nape. “Don’t worry about it.”
Vash sniffles but doesn’t continue. Minutes pass in silence as Vash breathes fevered puffs against his skin. The exhaustion soon takes over as Vash’s body slowly slumps and sleep takes him. Wolfwood stays awake a bit longer, idly trailing his hand up and down Vash’s back and tracing the tiny feathers until the weariness becomes too much to keep his eyes open any longer.
He awakens a few hours later when the sun has yet to breach the horizon. Eyes closed, he senses both of them are in the same position judging by the weight on his arm and the dip of Vash’s spine under his hand. His arm is asleep from Vash’s head on top of it but he notices that his skin isn’t clammy anymore, gotten past the worst of the fever. Wolfwood shifts, lying on his back and moving Vash to rest on his side. Vash’s head stays in the space between his neck and shoulder. He feels the easy rise and fall of Vash’s breathing on his flank and passes out again.
Another couple of hours pass when the sun is higher up in the sky, Wolfwood rouses to the sound of humming next to his ear. He places a hand on Vash’s neck and feels the vibrating emitting from his body. Vash squirms but doesn’t pull away.
Wolfwood yawns. “How long have you been awake?”
“Uhm, not long.” Two hours.
“Should’ve woken me.”
The purring stops. Vash rises with a hand on the bed and hovers above him. “You needed rest after making you carry me around. And I’m fine now.”
“You didn’t make me carry you.”
Vash chews on the inside of his cheek and looks away. “Pretty sure I did.” He pulls away and sits on the bed beside him.
Wolfwood glances at the bandages wrapped around Vash and sits up. “Lemme check the wounds.”
Vash picks at the wraps, intending to take them off. “They closed,” he says, tone clipped.
“Come here.”
Vash hunches, an act of defiance for a second, and then relents. He scoots to sit at the edge of the bed and Wolfwood kneels in front of him. Wolfwood removes the bandages and gauze, seeing for himself that the bullet wounds are healed, the skin around the wounds slightly pink. A small part of Wolfwood’s mind finds peace knowing they won’t leave a permanent mark amongst many others.
Vash watches him, expectant. His gaze doesn’t stay at one spot for too long, redirecting his eyes to and from his face and past his shoulder. Wolfwood waits for him to say something. Vash doesn’t.
Wolfwood stands. “You should take a bath.”
Vash deflates. “Okay.”
Vash moves but before he can stand Wolfwood lifts him. Being manhandled, he squawks, clutching onto Wolfwood with an arm around his shoulders as he’s carried to the bathroom. “I’m fine! I can walk by myself!”
“I know,” Wolfwood grunts and ignores him. He sits a pouting vash on the toilet lid and turns on the faucet to fill the tub with water.
Looking around the bathroom space, Vash notices his dried clothes hanging on the towel rack. He reaches for his red coat and holds its hem. The holes are stitched up. "You fixed my coat?"
Wolfwood glances at him while gauging the water’s temperature. "'Course."
Vash gazes at the fabric while the sound of rushing water fills the silence.
With the tub filled with warm water, Wolfwood dries his hands on his pants. “Alright, get in.” He leaves the bathroom and closes the door to give Vash some privacy. Wolfwood grabs spare clothes for him and waits outside the threshold. Water slouches as Vash climbs into the tub and settles down. Wolfwood waits a few seconds before entering, leaving the clothes on the toilet seat and grabbing the complimentary shampoo bottle. Vash stops rubbing soap on his body when Wolfwood kneels beside him.
“I can do it myself,” Vash mutters.
“I know.” Wolfwood pours soap on his palm. He cards his fingers into Vash’s hair.
The most they have done is help each other undress, never having the guts to stay too long and help the other clean the day’s dirt and scars off.
Vash resumes scrubbing his skin.
Wolfwood massages shampoo across Vash’s scalp, getting behind his ears and kneading his nape. He trails upwards to his fringe, mindful to catch the soap dripping down his forehead. Hair thoroughly lathered, he taps Vash on the shoulder. “Lean back.”
Wolfwood guides Vash to tilt his head backwards with a hand on his neck. Vash has his eyes closed while his hair is submerged in the water. Wolfwood can see he’s annoyed just from the crease between his brows. He cards his fingers in Vash’s hair to rid it of soap and leads him to sit back up. Done with his task, Wolfwood pulls away.
Vash shoots a glance at him. "Aren't you gonna say something?"
"About what?" Wolfwood knows what he's referring to.
Vash huffs. He wraps an arm around his knees. "If you want to ignore it that's fine too."
"I'm not ignoring it. I just don’t see it as legitimate."
Vash gapes. "Legitimate?" he echoes.
"You were sick so it doesn’t count."
"You—" Vash stammers, bristling. "Yes, it does! You’re being ridiculous!"
"If you see it the way I do,” Wolfwood points at him. “Speaking nonsense to a guy while injured and far gone lacks tact. Plus,” Wolfwood sighs. "It sounded like you thought you weren’t going to make it.” Wolfwood thought so too.
Nostrils flaring, Vash turns away. “It wasn’t nonsense.”
A couple of emotions go through Vash’s head. His tense posture shifts to fidgeting, then to his shoulders sagging. He realizes something when he mutters, “Sorry.”
“I don't want a sorry,” Wolfwood responds.
Wolfwood is perfectly okay with Vash not speaking of it again (he's not). Maybe he will say it again the next time he's thrown for a loop.
Vash continues. “I didn't say it because I thought I was dying. I just wanted to let you know.”
Wolfwood lets out an exasperated sigh. "Would it kill you to say it again? God, you are dense."
Vash grits his teeth, tears prickling his eyes. "Why are you being mean? I wanted to—” He stutters out a breath. “Worrying this entire time, of saying something wrong.”
Wolfwood brushes away stray wet hairs on Vash’s face. “Idiot. I told you not to worry about it.”
Vash huffs a laugh, stray tears falling. “How can I when it’s you? Us?”
Wolfwood cups Vash’s face and tips his head up to face him. He leans over the edge of the tub and presses a kiss to the corner of his eye, over his mole. More tears gather in Vash’s eyes, staring at him in awe when he pulls away.
“Let’s get you dried up.”
Vash continues to gaze at him intently while he grabs a large towel. Wolfwood gives Vash a hand. Vash takes it and steps out of the bath. Before he can shiver from leaving the lukewarm water, Wolfwood wraps the towel around him like a blanket. Vash leans his head on Wolfwood’s shoulder as he's patted dry, still drained after being ill. He’s then maneuvered to sit on the toilet and Wolfwood gets a hand towel to get rid of the water in his hair. Wolfwood hums as he sifts through the locks. Hair and body dried enough, Wolfwood taps Vash on the shoulder to get him to stand. The towel is removed and Vash is changed into a new pair of clothes.
Wolfwood stretches out a hand again and Vash takes it. He’s guided to sit on the bed next to him. Their hands don’t let go.
Vash leans his head on Wolfwood’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he murmurs.
Wolfwood hums in reply, reaching with his other hand to brush a thumb on Vash’s temple. Vash turns his head towards his neck, nosing the area and likely hearing his quickened heartbeat.
"Wolfwood, I—” Vash swallows. “You do know that I—"
"Love you too," Wolfwood responds.
Vash exhales a wet laugh into his neck. He tightens his grip on his hand. “You're insufferable.”
Wolfwood smiles into his hair. Vash pulls back but doesn’t stay away for long, lifting his head to place a kiss on his lips. The kiss lasts long enough for Wolfwood to have half a mind to reciprocate and press forward but too short for his liking when Vash draws back and ducks his head back into his neck. That won’t do.
Wolfwood cups Vash’s face and tilts his head back to face him. Vash’s eyes are red with emotion so Wolfwood plants a kiss on both of his lids. Another is pressed to the corner of his lips for good measure. He feels Vash’s lips tremble, the stutter in his exhale. Pulling away, Vash cries in earnest.
“Thank you,” Vash repeats, blinking away stray tears. Wolfwood hears the for staying with me.
Wolfwood pulls him into a hug and rubs his back. “What’re you crying for silly?”
Vash sniffles into his shoulder, letting out a, “Don’t tease a sick person.” Wolfwood chuckles.
They stay in each other’s arms for a little while longer.