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Wolfwood pulls up to a stop sign and, taking in the desolate streets stretching into the night, lifts his hands from the steering wheel to pull out a cigarette. His lighter’s scuffed metal body still manages to reflect the flickering streetlight above him, the tiny square of light dancing through the deep shadows that the streetlight's flickering light leaves behind. The flame does little to warm him against the chill, but it’s not here for that- it’s here to do something far more important.
He takes a long drag and breathes out. While he’s out, there’s no one to see him being a bad influence, so he can debauch to his heart’s content…or as much trouble as he can get up to in his car on a miserably cold Tuesday night, which is admittedly not that much.
A car zooms through the cross street without so much of a cursory pause at the stop sign, and Wolfwood leans back in his seat, sighing. This is why he can get away with killing time here: the intersections in this area can be a fucking war zone. Not for him, though, no thank you- he’ll sit here peacefully giving himself lung cancer until he’s ready, rather than rushing into someone else’s Grand Theft Auto LARP.
The streetlight flickers once more, threatening to give up entirely, before defiantly choosing to stay steadily on for the time being. Wolfwood’ll take it over the unnecessary outdoor rave. He glances up and down the lonely cross-street, trying to decide if it’s time to move on or time for another cigarette, when movement in the rear-view catches his eye.
The lump in the gutter shifts, just enough Wolfwood can tell it isn’t just trash being buffeted by the moaning winds.
Well, shit.
He looks over his shoulder and throws his car into reverse, squealing on wet leaves as he maneuvers his way onto the side of the road, safely out of the way of whatever poor soul has been forgotten in the night. He’s not sure if it’s a person, but the size isn’t wrong- especially if they’re curled up underneath something.
Wolfwood hops out of the car without a moment’s hesitation, jogging towards the shape. He was right; it certainly looks like a person huddled underneath a dingy red coat. It can’t be enough to keep them warm in this weather- and besides, the side of the road is no place for someone at any time of day.
“Hey there,” he calls, trying to get a feel for if this sad stranger is with it enough to be part of the conversation or passed out from some shitty fate, be it from their own poor choices or bad luck getting the best of them.
He gets silence for an answer and tries again. “Yoooo, you awake down there?”
This time, Wolfwood gets a soft groan and the shuffling of limbs within fabric. He’ll take that as a good sign. “You wanna get out of the cold? I don’t recommend sleeping in the street all night.”
After a pause, a face pokes out of the depths of dirty fabric. Under the warm streetlight, it’s hard to tell if he’s covered in bruises or dirt, and neither are a good look. Unnaturally bright blue eyes blink up at him, trying to focus. “Uh- hello!”
For all the enthusiasm this stranger is trying to muster, His voice sounds scratchy and strained, and nothing in his face looks like he’s had a good time recently. Unless this guy can tell him an actual place he’s got to stay tonight, Wolfwood is bringing him back to the church. Letting someone stay over to get them out of the cold is fine; what else is helping the poor and downtrodden supposed to mean?
“You look pretty rough down there, Blondie,” he says, offering the stranger his hand. “Let’s get you out of the street.”
“Oh! Oh, yeah, you know, just hanging out.” He shakes his head and winces. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Yeah, that sounds exactly like what someone who needs some worry in their life would say. C’mon, up we go.”
There’s another pause and, despite looking like he’d rather retreat into his coat, the stranger takes Wolfwood’s hand. On pulling him up, Wolfwood gets to marvel at the gangly limbs contained in his coat and how, somehow, he’d tucked such a tall form into a small space. His hand is cool in Wolfwood’s, like he’s just barely holding on, and he’s gonna make sure to crank the heat as much as it can still go once he’s got this guy in his car.
“Thanks for that,” the stranger says, giving Wolfwood a cheery smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll just be on my way—”
“Bzzt, wrong. You’re coming with me so I know you have a warm place to sleep tonight. It’ll make me sleep easier, knowing you’re safe.”
He scratches his head, regarding Wolfwood with the air of a nervous animal that has learned how to put on an act to entertain, regardless of its own comfort. “Really, you don’t have to worry. I have somewhere to go—”
“Where?”
“—aaaaaand it’s not safe to get into cars with strangers,” he finishes. “So—”
“Nicholas D. Wolfwood,” he cuts in, offering his hand with a flourish. “Though most know me as Father Nicholas.”
The stranger’s whole demeanor brightens at that. “You’re a priest?”
“Yep.”
“Well, I don’t want to impose on you, Father, but…I really could use somewhere to sleep. Just for the night!”
Wolfwood barely contains rolling his eyes. “You’re not imposing; I just offered it to you.”
“Oh, right!”
He gestures towards his car. “Your carriage awaits,” he says, getting a chuckle out of his new companion. “You gotta name with all this baggage, Blondie?”
“Vash,” he says, offering his hand this time. “Nice to meet you, Nicholas.”
Wolfwood takes his hand with a grimace. “If it’s not gonna be Father, just Wolfwood is fine. Please.”
“You got it, Wolfwood!”
Somewhere between the potholes and angry car horns, Vash falls asleep. Whatever, Wolfwood’s no stranger to helping people get around; he can probably shuffle him into the rectory no problem. Seems like the guy has been through a lot already, so if he can get him in without waking him, it’s gonna be better.
Wolfwood gives his pack of cigarettes one last longing look before tucking it back in his pocket. There’s always tomorrow, preferably away from someone he just met- though it’s not like this guy could snitch on him to God or anything.
Sunlight streams in, warming his face and nearly blinding Vash when he opens his eyes. What??? He’s used to the sun invading his space, usually way earlier than he’d like it, but something is…different. Most of the previous day’s aches have all but melted away, and instead of being curled up tightly, tucked into some hidden space, this morning he appears to be on a couch, where someone had even tucked him in? What the heck is going on?
He shifts, trying to sit up, and takes in his surroundings. There’s a bit of a draft, but otherwise it’s a heck of a lot warmer than sleeping out in the rough. He’s in a simple room with plain painted walls, the only decorations being old-looking portraits and a simple crucifix on one wall. Other than that, there are a couple doors, probably leading to an actual bedroom and maybe a kitchen, but Vash isn’t going to jump to conclusions that easily.
…the tempting smell of breakfast coming from one of the doorways is enough to sway his opinion, though.
Wait.
Last night is still a blur, but he remembers a brief conversation, smeared across his memories by pain and exhaustion. Someone talked to him, and they…
They…
He insisted on bringing Vash home, which appears to be part of a church. Wolfwood— no, that can’t be right, Vash could have sworn he mentioned being a priest. Father Wolfwood doesn’t sound like any priest he’s met yet, but maybe this one is different. He was definitely Father Something, and he didn’t like being called it.
Vash groans, running his hands through his hair. He’s been doing okay, picking his way across this wide world, but the past few weeks have really been out to get him. Maybe Wolfwood is a blessing in disguise, here to give him some sort of sanctuary until he can move on again- even though he’d still rather not impose for too long, it’s better than giving up entirely and rotting in a street somewhere.
Well, no time like the present to try to get better again. He’ll do his morning meditation, and then—
“Yo, Blondie, you up yet?” Wolfwood pokes his head in and, seeing Vash sitting up on the couch, grins widely. “Good to see you moving finally. Ready for breakfast?”
He nods enthusiastically. “It smells good!”
“Only the best for random guys sleeping on my couch. It’s what the Lord would want,” he says, one hand laid on his heart before winking. “But seriously, you need to get some food in you- I thought I was carrying a literal string bean last night.”
“Sorry?”
“Nah, just saying- you need some breakfast. And then we’ll get you cleaned up.”
“You really are generous—”
“Just trying to take care of those who have fallen down on their luck,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “C’mon. Stop loitering in there and get some food.”
Vash doesn’t need to be told twice. When is the last time he’s had a proper meal, let alone a warm one prepared with care? He can’t remember, so he’s going to do his best to enjoy this.
Wolfwood piles his plate with bacon and pancakes, and they sit together at the narrow kitchen table that generously sits about one and a half place settings, Wolfwood pushing his ashtray and some papers aside to fit it all.
“So…Wolfwood, right?” Vash begins, seeking clarification, and Wolfwood nods. “Sorry, it’s just that last night is still a bit hazy, so I wanted to be sure. Can’t say I’ve ever met a Father Wolfwood before!”
“’Cause it’s Father Nicholas,” he corrects, chewing on the end of his bacon. “But Wolfwood’s fine. You got it right the first time.”
“’Kay.” Vash watches him, trying to figure out what the catch is. He knows that, in theory, churches are meant to be places for those who have nowhere else to go, but he’s not naive enough to think that’s always true anymore. Wolfwood seems to be big on helping, but he doesn’t want to presume and end up screwed over. “Thanks for last night- I really appreciate it. Is there any way I can pay you back?”
Wolfwood chuckles. “I don’t think you’re about to make a big enough donation to fix our leaky roof.” He sighs, drumming his fingers on the table before fixing Vash with another of those mischievous looks. “If you wanna stick around and make a difference, I could use some help with lunch.”
“Lunch?”
“Yeah, for all the kiddos,” he says, as if that explains everything.
Vash shrugs. Whatever it is, he can help out. “Well, I’m not half-bad at cooking,” he promises. “Just point me in the right direction and I’ll make you something.”
“Oh, Blondie, so naive…I hope you enjoyed your breakfast, because I’m throwing you in the trenches.”
“Eh???”
Wolfwood gets up and clears their dishes from the table. “You’ll see! You look like the kinda guy who’ll catch on quickly.”
Vash glances between his now empty place setting and Wolfwood’s grinning face. He’s not opposed to working for it, especially when he offered, but…he’d kinda like to know what he’s getting into first. “I don’t know what gave you that idea. I mean, we just met.”
“I can tell. You’ve got that hardworking spirit that wouldn’t let a bunch of cute orphans go without lunch.”
Wolfwood leads the way, whistling in a manner not-so-priestly as they leave. Behind him, Vash boggles at the high ceilings, the sort that really belong somewhere where their grandeur could be appreciated. Beneath their feet,Vash realizes, the floor is real marble.
“Don’t mind Jesus up there on the wall, he’s looking a little crooked.” Wolfwood waves it off. “I really need to get up there and bolt him back to the wall.”
Vash takes in the crossbeams above, crisscrossing towards the listing crucifix. “Is there a way to get up there?”
“Little access staircase. Practically a ladder for half of it.” Wolfwood shrugs. “Pain in my ass. This place is too damn big for how little cash they give us to upkeep it.”
Wolfwood pushes open the doors to the church and holds them open for Vash. They cross the grounds to another small building. Inside, Wolfwood’s greeted like a celebrity, or at least, someone a bunch of eight year olds can bully snacks out of. Vash watches as he navigates the “hello”s and “good morning”s and “did you do your chores yet”s, knowing each kid by name and mannerisms. Wolfwood denies the existence of any candy on his person, and Vash isn’t sure believes him, even though priests aren’t supposed to lie.
Wolfwood catches his eye and smiles. “Well I’ll be. You do know how to smile.”
Vash starts, glancing over his shoulder as though somehow he’s going to find someone else for Wolfwood's words to be addressed to. It’s just him though.
“In any event,” Wolfwood says to the kids, indicating Vash with a flourish, “not only am I here, but today I have brought you all a fresh face to torment.”
“Eh?! Torment?”
Wolfwood’s introduction turns the sea of faces on Vash, and the kids eye him with varying degrees of curiosity and suspicion.
“I’m just messing with you, Blondie. Don’t actually go tormenting him, okay?” Wolfwood ruffles the hair of the kid closest at hand.
“Who is he?” a different kid asks, finger in his nose as he sizes Vash up.
“He’s a guest who’s helping out some.” Wolfwood shifts to put himself between Vash and the kids. “His name is Mr. Vash, and you kids are gonna be on your best behavior, right?”
“J-just Vash is fine.”
Wolfwood nods. “Well then, Just Vash, let's see how you fare.”
Playing with the kids, Vash can handle. He knows how to play the clown, let them win, goof off some… His surprise and interest when the kids show him the TV or explain how he should mind the play phone when playing house is almost so genuine Wolfwood would think he’d never seen the things before in his life. And when the time comes that the matron of the orphanage comes to call on them for help with lunch, Wolfwood has to be the one who goes to cook because a little girl is far too busy trying to braid Vash’s straight-up broom of blond hair to let him go do something as boring as cook lunch for them.
When lunch is ready, Vash proves himself to be adept at herding the kiddos like a flock of sheep instead of the rowdy cats they usually act like. He makes a good server, too, and the food all gets doled out without a fuss. It’s good, busy, tiring work.
That night, Vash crashes back on the couch, exhausted from a day of running around and helping Wolfwood take care of the various kids in the orphanage. His initial thoughts about Wolfwood were correct, though: he’s someone with a big heart and the drive to actually take action to help the people who need it. Vash doesn’t think he’ll mind sticking around for another day or two, just to help out while resting up, especially with Wolfwood around to lead the charge.
One of the perks of taking up the mantle of priesthood is free housing.
In fact, it was maybe the perk that was most appealing to Wolfwood when he set out on this path to find a way out of his drunk dad’s home. Not that it matters now; he’s here to help people and make sure no one gets left behind, secular benefits or not.
Isn’t just doing good enough?
The bedraggled blond on his couch should be proof enough that he’s got a soft spot for anyone in trouble. Does it matter what his actual thoughts on all the Jesus-y stuff are? He’s still taking care of this dinky, run down little church and its orphanage, just like he said he would, so overall, Wolfwood calls that good enough.
He’s not sure if “indefinitely letting another adult live in the rectory” is in the rules, but no one is coming out all the way out here to check if Hopeland is still minding all their Ps and Qs. He can bend a few rules, Especially since Vash has been helping out so much. True to his prediction, the blond can pull his weight. He’ll do whatever he’s asked…even if he’s a bit weird about it. Wolfwood’s not here to judge some guy he hauled out of a gutter, but he’s definitely got some odd mannerisms.
Whatever. Another warm body to help in a building that seems like it’s always on the verge of collapsing in places is nothing to complain about.
Wolfwood sheds the last of his robes, hanging them up carefully. Early morning service is a beloved part of the community…or at least for all the old folks who don’t have anything better to do but get to church by 7 am. Even if Wolfwood’s own faith seems to be flagging by the day, he owes his best to the grannies and old coots who show up every morning for some kind words and singing. Nothing wrong with putting on a show when that’s what people come for.
Vash is probably still sprawled on the couch, sleeping peacefully as a baby can when its legs are too long for their crib.
Maybe that analogy got a little away from him.
Whether it did or not, he’s still gonna have to rouse him for breakfast. The weather is clear enough that Wolfwood wants to take a look at the fussy part of the roof, and having someone to spot him is definitely safer than what he usually does.
Instead, he pulls the door open to find Vash dressed and nearly ready to go; he’s in the process of his pulling his boots on when he realizes he’s no longer alone.
“Oh! Uh, hey, good morning, Wolfwood, fancy seeing you back already,” he says, once again wearing that smile that doesn’t fit with the rest of his features. “I was just, well, you know, getting ready to get going!”
“You know, it’d sound less suspicious if you didn’t try to explain yourself without a clear cover story,” he says, leaning against the doorway. “So what’s really up, Spiky? You sound nervous.”
“Nope! Not nervous, just ready to be up and about!”
Wolfwood raises an eyebrow. “It’s not even 8 yet and I haven’t been able to drag your scrawny ass off that couch until at least 10 the past couple of days. Forgive me for worrying about your sudden penchant for being a morning person.”
Vash shrugs. “I was trying to get out of your hair without making a bigger mess,” he begins, scratching at his head and looking away. “But now you’re here, so I guess I didn’t really think about what you’d wanna hear, so…”
“Wait, were you seriously about to just ditch without even saying goodbye?”
“Um…”
“Some thank you that is,” Wolfwood mutters, crossing his arms. “So, what’s the deal- you got somewhere to go?”
Vash shrugs again, and he’s starting to realize that this is how Blondie tries to minimize major concerns. “I’ve got some places I’m headed towards, yeah.”
“Where?”
“Just…onwards, okay?”
“I’m not letting you wander back out into the world without a warm place to sleep- or at least a solid roof over your head. You’ve seen the weather. Today’s nicer, but it’s gonna turn worse any day now.” He comes fully into the room now, pulling the door shut behind him to shield them both from the early morning chill. “So…what’s your real plan?”
He sinks further into the couch, frowning. That, at least, looks like an honest expression, and Wolfwood can appreciate it. It’s not like he ever wanted to be told where he could or couldn’t go, and he knows how frequently concern can feel like an overbearing weight. But that won’t stop him from keeping someone out of danger. Even if it’s just this one stranger this one winter, it’s better than no one at all.
“I really appreciate all the help you’ve given me—”
“You’ve been helping around here. Consider it payment for your generous volunteering.”
“—but I don’t want to loiter here on your couch forever, Wolfwood. You have a good heart and you’re doing good work here, and I’m sure the Lord sees that. So, keep being you and don’t worry about me.”
“Wrong again, Spiky- I can’t keep being me and let you run off on your own. If you think I’m doing a good job with spreading God’s love and forgiveness and all that, you’ve gotta understand that you’re staying right here until you can safely support yourself.”
“Why do you make it sound like I’m some sort of injured animal you’ve taken in, and you don’t think I can be reintroduced to the wild yet?”
Wolfwood laughs at that, breaking through some of the tension. “You said it, not me, Spiky. Come on. You’re dressed and ready for the day, so you may as well get some breakfast,” he says, crossing the room to head towards the kitchen. “I’ll make pancakes.”
“With chocolate chips?”
“Are you five?”
“Are you ever too old to enjoy pancakes with chocolate chips?”
“Touche.” Wolfwood doesn’t keep chocolate chips as a standard in his pantry; that’s something he reserves for spoiling the kids at the orphanage when Miss Melanie isn’t looking. Spiky is gonna have to settle for classic pancakes with syrup, and hope that satisfies his sweet tooth.
Vash follows him in, reaching around him to grab plates from the cabinet. "Do you not eat before service?"
"Nah," he admits, pouring pancake mix straight into the bowl with a practiced eye for how much he'll need. "I still haven't mastered being a total morning person, but who am I to deny all the old ladies who wanna start their days with my shining face? I can always scarf something down afterwards if I don't do it beforehand."
Vash nods along, scooting past Wolfwood to pull the silverware drawer open.
"And, of course, how could I forget the sweet taste of Jesus's flesh? Pretty sure that's supposed to be more than enough to get me through the day."
Vash chokes out a laugh, clutching a fork in his hand. "I thought- I mean, I know what the words are, but pretty much everyone sees it as more of a...symbolic thing, right?"
Wolfwood grabs the fork from Vash's hand to mix the batter and shoots him a winning smile in exchange. "Ah, but that's where you're wrong- the transubstantiation turns it into some good old-fashioned, bonafide, Church-sanctioned cannibalism."
"Wolfwood!"
"But you didn't hear it from me," he teases, reaching under him to find a frying pan. "I'm not here to ruin anyone's faith in the ways of the Lord. Communion questions or not."
He bumps his head on the silverware drawer, swearing under his breath. "Still trying to figure out what to eat pancakes with, Spiky?"
"Sorry, sorry, I didn't- I just- Look, I've never heard someone call it Church-sanctioned cannibalism before!"
Wolfwood laughs, rubbing the back of his head. It doesn't feel like it's gonna turn into some sort of nasty bump, but with his luck, it could be anything. "Maybe I'm not exactly a ‘traditional’ priest, but I'd rather connect with the community than get caught up on stuffy language, you know?"
"Well, you're right," he agrees, finally closing the drawer and leaning against the counter, silverware in hand. "It's hard to reach people if you're not willing to meet them where they are."
"Even if that somewhere is the gutter?"
"Hey!"
He waves Vash off, dropping a small pat of butter on the pan and relishing the satisfying sizzle it makes as it melts. Pancakes are easy, cheap, and he almost never runs into someone who doesn't like ‘em, no matter how standoffish they are. It looks like Blondie here is no exception, chocolate chips or not.
The two scoops of pancake batter spread out into almost perfect circles as they cook, filling the small kitchen with welcoming smells. It's easy enough to do and not easy to ignore Vash's gaze from the other side of the counter, watching him as he cooks. Has this guy never seen anyone make pancakes before? Sometimes it feels like he's never seen anyone do anything before, but that's not quite right. There are definitely things he knows, but Wolfwood has been trying to piece together why Vash doesn't know the things he's clueless about.
Someone that out of it needs a little extra care before they get sent back out into the wild. He’ll just have to keep an eye on Vash, keep him occupied while he gets back on his feet. Maybe Wolfwood’ll put him to work, get him to help with patching the roof or getting the garden beds cleaned up so the ground’ll be ready come spring. Just little things to give him a sense of purpose and help Wolfwood get on top of the never ending task of keeping this ramshackle little church running until Vash can show he’s absolutely, for sure got somewhere safe to go.
Whatever. He'll have breakfast and go from there; he can't get stuck on thoughts about his current charity case forever.
"Thanks again, Wolfwood," he says, nearly startling Wolfwood into dropping the pancake he's trying to flip. "I guess I needed breakfast more than I realized. It smells sooooo good!"
"Don't worry about it, Blondie. I told you- I'm trying to help you out and not let you end up stuck in a shitty situation again, so you gotta put up with me making sure you have warm meals and somewhere to sleep," he promises, flipping the other pancake with more success. "Besides that couch being too short for you, it's not a half-bad setup, right?"
Vash shakes his head emphatically. "You're very generous, even for a man of the Lord. Some people want to take advantage of generosity, but you're still willing to extend yourself to strangers who need it."
"Come on now, it's too early for all this genuine flattery. Pride’s unbecoming to a man of the cloth.” Wolfwood plates the pancakes, serving them up for Vash. “I'm trying to do my job and take care of whoever's in need; it's that simple. So sit your ass down and enjoy some pancakes, made with love."
Vash eats his pancakes methodically, but with clear enthusiasm. Not a crumb left behind when he’s done, no sir! Wolfwood goes slower, mulling over just what to do with the rest of his day.
“You ever patch a roof before, Blondie?”
Vash shakes his head. “Can’t say I have.”
“Mmm.” Wolfwood mulls this over, but in the end the coming winter months mean the roof is a top priority item. “Well, first time for everything.”
Vash nods, getting up to do the dishes while Wolfwood finishes eating. When they’re both done, they bundle back up and head outside to boggle up at the roof.
"So I was thinking- you spot me while I get onto the roof. There's a leak up there somewhere, but I haven't been able to figure out where it's coming from inside," Wolfwood explains, gesturing upwards. "And it's a bit of a pain to get up there alone, you know?"
"Yeah, I got you! It'd be really dangerous to fall from that high up," Vash agrees, following his gaze. "So...I'll stay down here, and that'll...help?"
"Er. Yeah. Look, you can yell if it looks like I'm slipping, and I'll grab onto something," he suggests.
Vash's face screws up as he tries to think this through. "I dunno, Wolfwood, that sounds pretty risky. Kinda sounds like you're setting me up to be a witness instead of a life-saver."
"I'm not gonna fall."
"But you think you might."
"Ye- no.” God forgive him, but sometimes you need a little dishonesty to keep people from worrying. “Nope, not at all. Just trying to appease the kiddos and Miss Melanie into thinking I'm a good, responsible influence."
"Aren't you though?" Vash’s dubious eyebrows are making a break for the skies.
"Exactly!" Wolfwood starts heading around back to haul out the ladders. He's pretty sure one of them is tall enough to get him up on the roof, or at least a lower part of the roof that he can climb the rest of the way up from. Easy peasy.
One of the kids comes running up, nearly barreling right into him. "Whoa there, Mikhael, slow down! You're gonna knock over someone at that pace," Wolfwood says, placing a hand on the kid's head to try to keep him in place. "What's got you in a tizzy?"
"Father Nico, there's a problem," he says quickly, tugging on his shirt. "There's water in the basement and Miss Melanie said it's not supposed to be there and she sent Susan to get a buncha towels and I think someone was s'posed to get you but I dunno if anyone actually did so I said I would and I did!! I knew I'd find you first and you'd be able to fix it."
Wolfwood crouches down to look Mikhael in the eyes. "Alright buddy, I'm gonna repeat back the juicy bits and you're gonna tell me if I got it all right. You got that?"
"Mmhm!"
"So, Miss Melanie found a bunch of water in the basement and sent Susan to get something to try to stop it. But you had the good idea to ask for extra outside help just in case that didn't work. Does that sound right?"
He nods enthusiastically. "Yeah!! But I dunno what is wrong with it or why there's all the water or I guess, even what's broken that's causing all the water, but I told Jaqueline that you could definitely fix it, even though she thinks it's gonna be a surprise swimming pool for, um, an early Christmas present."
"Well, unfortunately the good Lord has yet to send us the funds for a state of the art year-round swimming pool, so I'm gonna have to look into what's causing this issue instead. You run along--"
He darts off, sprinting back the way he came, and Wolfwood groans. "Hey! I didn't mean literally run! Be careful!!!"
Vash gives him an understanding look. "He has a lot of energy."
"Yeah, and not a lotta common sense. Well, sounds like we're dealing with whatever's gone wrong with the plumbing instead of the roof, cuz I guess there's no shortage of problems around here." Wolfwood pushes up from his knees and stands shaking his head. Is it ever enough to have just one potentially expensive repair?
"At least you'll be able to fix it."
"Hopefully. They've all got a bit of an exaggerated idea of what I can actually do around here, mostly because sometimes you gotta half-ass a fix to hold it for a few months, you know?" He gives Vash and his mysterious aura a long look. "Would it be too much to hope that you have a secret life as a plumber?"
Vash gives a cartoonishly outsized wince and shakes his head. "Sorry! I pick things up pretty quickly, though, promise."
Wolfwood starts heading back towards the orphanage. "Better than nothing. I swear, if one building isn't falling apart, the other is, and now they've conspired to double team me together."
"I'm sure you can take care of it. Everyone has a lot of faith in you, so you should take that to heart and see it within yourself."
"And what makes you so sure of that?"
"I've seen how everyone looks at you," Vash begins, following along next to him. "And I've seen how you look at everyone here, the buildings included. You have a lot of devotion to all of it. You allow so many of them to hang their worries on your shoulders, Wolfwood. Believe in your ability to be worthy of all that."
Wolfwood's shoe catches an unruly bit of uneven brick on the path, and he stumbles ever so slightly. It's not because of Vash's words, but it's definitely not helped by his firm grasp on Wolfwood's arm, catching him from a fall that definitely wasn't coming.
Words like that are so minor. He knows he works hard; he doesn't need some guy he met a couple days ago to try to stroke his ego. But Vash's bright eyes meet his, as open and absolute as the sky, as if he can look into his very soul and find the words to put the fractures of his faith back together.
Fuck.
This sort of thought process is why he had to get into this life in the first place. He’s not here to let a handsome face distract him from taking care of what actually matters: the orphanage and the people it supports.
“Yeah, well, that alone ain’t gonna fix whatever’s wrong in the basement, Spiky. Let’s go.”
Vash falls back in step next to him, letting him have the brief silence before the cavalcade of children descend upon his presence…or rather, before he descends into the basement and they try to crawl all over him while he’s working. Maybe Miss Melanie can take them on some sort of nature walk? It’s not like there’s much left alive, besides the few dead leaves clinging to the trees and the single sad evergreen that seems to droop more with each passing year.
Wait, why the hell were the kids in the basement in the first place?
First step: wrangle everyone.
Wolfwood tramps down the stairs. “Alright, alright, I heard there was an underground pool party I wasn’t invited to. What gives?”
His question is answered with a cacophonous symphony of shouts and giggles and as expected the weight of every kid under ten crashes into him at once. It’s a chorus of “Father Nico, Father Nico!!!” over and over, and he can just feel Vash’s eyes staring into the back of his head. Look, he’s not the one taking the brunt of it, so he should stay on the stairs and stay safe while Wolfwood makes his ways through the trenches.
“So what brought all of you down here?” he asks, and is once again hit with a wave of sound. Wolfwood holds up a hand. “The Lord might be able to listen to infinite people at once, but I can’t. Let’s try one at a time.”
“Miss Melanie heard a noise and we didn’t want her gettin’ hurt,” one of them offers, raising their hand above the sea of eager faces. “And then there was a lot to see, and—”
“—and you all are doing a great job watching over it with her,” Wolfwood assures them. “But I promise I’m gonna take care of it, so I need y’all to give me some breathing room, okay?”
“But what about the pool?” Jacqueline asks. ”I wanted to try it out!”
“Pool’s closed, kids, sorry.”
A wave of “awwwwww” and “but Father Nico” washes over him, but their disappointment falls on deaf ears.
“Why don’t you all go see what you can do about helping Miss Melanie get lunch ready?” Vash offers, beckoning them upstairs.
“But it’s not lunchtime yet!”
“Ah, but it will be, and you have to start cooking ahead of time!”
Despite the continued noises of disappointment and uncertainty, Vash manages to slip amidst the kiddos and peel them off Wolfwood, herding them up the stairs like an oversized two-legged sheepdog. And, just like a sheepdog, he swiftly returns to Wolfwood’s side once his task is done.
“So,” Vash begins, leaning around Wolfwood to stare at the busted pipe and its many offered towels. “I dunno much about plumbing, so I’m gonna have to leave this to your most holy expertise, Father.”
Wolfwood groans, fingers pressed against his temples. “Yeah, they don’t really teach the practical trade skills in seminary, but damn if they aren’t useful. I’ve picked up enough to know what’s wrong, though.”
“Oh?”
“It’s broken.”
Vash snickers. “Ah, now I see. Thanks and blessings all around.”
“I’m workin’ on it, Spiky. Just…” He gestures to his right. “Stand there and stop blocking all the light.”
“Sorry!”
Wolfwood traces the line with his eyes, trying to find the closest shutoff valve so he doesn’t have to flip the master and just cut the water for the whole building. He points to it.
“Flip that for me, would ya, Spiky?”
Vash salutes. “Aye-aye, Father!”
Wolfwood rolls his eyes, setting his toolbag on top of a cabinet so it doesn’t get wet. Isn’t aye-aye more for ship’s captains? He pulls out a wrench, pipe cutters, and the miscellaneous gaskets and pipe fittings left over from repair jobs past. The water coming from the pipe slows to a dribble as Vash twists the valve shut.
Wolfwood eyes the crack now that he’s not actively watching water gush from it. Can he make it work with what he has here? Wolfwood lifts up the small handful of parts one-by-one, watching each be just slightly not right.
He groans, tossing each piece back into the toolbag. Fan-fucking-tastic.
Vash cocks his head to the side. “No luck?”
“I don’t want to have to go into town and buy a part for it, especially with the roof and all its various problems, but…” Wolfwood gestures at the busted pipe. “Unless we’re just gonna call it a wash on everything downline from here, we gotta get something on it.”
“Seems unfair that the plumbing was so jealous of your attention, that it had to forcibly drag it away from the roof,” Vash says, coming closer to inspect it himself. “I’m gonna assume there aren’t…more parts like this you could swap out around here?”
Wolfwood shakes his head, breathing out. “Even if I could, I don’t know quite enough about plumbing to pull that off- but I appreciate the faith in my abilities, however unfounded.”
Vash picks up the pipe cutters, looking between them and the cracked pipe. “I could at least cut the broken portion out?”
“Annnnd then we’d have an even bigger hole.”
Now it's Vash’s turn to dig through the toolbag, as though he’ll somehow have a different result. Wolfwood starts to mop up the water with the towels, and it’s not long before they’re all sopping wet.
“Ah hah!” Vash proclaims, holding a single gasket aloft. “I found this one tucked in a hole in the lining! Do you think it would fit?”
Wolfwood takes it and turns it over in his hands. Then he holds it to the pipe.
It’s the perfect size.
“Well I’ll be, Spiky!” He elbows Vash triumphantly, his own grin returning as he grabs the tools to loosen it and fit it onto the pipe. He has no recollection of this piece. Vash might as well have pulled it out of the ether by some divine miracle. Right now, though, he didn’t really care. “You saved the day.”
Vash smiled sheepishly, shrugging. “I just like to help out where I can.”
Vash’s miraculous aid in fixing the plumbing jumpstarts a string of good luck for Wolfwood’s home repair efforts. The good weather holds long enough for them to patch the roof. He guides the kids from the orphanage in a garden cleanup day that somehow tricks a bunch of ten year olds that doing his yardwork is fun. Vash and Miss Melanie successfully troubleshoot something in the wiring, and they manage to get it fixed without anyone getting electrocuted.
The good times honestly make Wolfwood uneasy, and so some nights he still just gets in his car and drives aimlessly around the area, smoking out the window and trying to reassure himself that good things are not the prelude to misfortune.
It doesn’t do much.
Coming home to the soft wheeze of Vash’s snoring on the couch, however, and hearing the way the couch springs whine under Vash whenever he shifts in his sleep?
Well. Wolfwood’s allowed to have a little something just for himself, isn’t he? Especially if that something is taking pride in helping someone downtrodden! It’s priestly. And Vash just slots so naturally into his life, into the space he’s building with his church and his orphans and his elderly parishioners. He works hard, even if he doesn’t like to talk about himself. He gets along with the kids, and Miss Melanie’s taken as much of a shine to him as she has any of the other wayward souls who wander across her doorstep.
At night, after they kick off their shoes by the door where Vash’s tall, strappy boots tower over Wolfwood’s black loafers, they shoot the breeze about everything and nothing— the kids and the work they’ve gotten done, the growing chill or the way Vash picked up on Wolfwood’s snarky little innuendos when he had to speak to a particularly tiresome attendee. Other nights they sneak shots like they’re dumb teens who know just how to break into their drunk dad’s liquor cabinet for the good shit, laughing and playing cards until late into the night.
Wolfwood could watch Vash’s scarred hands shuffle cards for hours.
He gets in his car and drives, down empty streets that are occasionally filled with far too many cars whipping through at breakneck speeds, smoking cigarette after cigarette, because he’s a priest for Christ’s sake! He’s supposed to be above getting crushes on tall blonds with big hearts by now! He smokes and smokes. He still barely knows anything about Vash, not where he’s from or where he’s going; not how he ended up in the gutter or how he got any of the numerous scars he’s caught glimpses of over the last few weeks; not why he looks at some things with an almost ancient wisdom and reacts to others like he’s never heard of ‘em. He’s weird as hell, but weird works with Wolfwood’s life, too.
Vash and Wolfwood have a good thing going, and by God, Wolfwood still hasn’t learned how to trust a good thing without poking it until it falls apart.
“Been almost two months,” Wolfwood drawls, obviously trying to make it sound casual as he scrapes a casserole dish clean in the orphanage kitchen, “aren’t you glad you didn’t decide to just wander off to some other gutter?”
Vash squeaks out a laugh, not sure what else to say. “Yeah. I really appreciate all your generosity, Wolfwood.”
“It’s nothing, Blondie. Though I am curious-” and here it comes, whatever put that fake casual tone in Wolfwood’s voice, “where did you come from?”
“Oh, you know. Here and there. I’ve kind of always been a wanderer.” Vash doesn’t look at Wolfwood.
“But you must’ve come from somewhere, everybody’s gotta, even if you don’t want it. What’s your story, Spiky?” Vash starts gathering up the dirty silverware and dumping them in a pot of water to soak. Maybe he’ll add a little soap, to help any of the food stuck on them release. Wolfwood keeps pressing. “Just what are you running from?”
How could he tell Wolfwood and have him believe it? How could Wolfwood, with his obligations and his broken faith and his too-sharp mind, take what Vash was carrying? Vash turns to Wolfwood, and the hard look in his eyes says he needs real answers if Vash wants to keep playing around at this happy little life.
So. This is the end.
“I’ve got family troubles. And job troubles, I guess you could say.” Vash reaches over and takes the casserole dish from Wolfwood, dunking it in the soapy water of the sink to start scrubbing it clean. The water in the sink is still steaming, and it stings his hands. “It’s not that exciting or scandalous, really. Just the same sort of mundane pain we’re all carrying.”
“Uh-huh. And where are you going from here?”
Vash stares down into the sink as he scrubs. “Well, you didn’t seem to want me gone until I had an answer, so I guess I still don’t have one.”
“Blondie, if you’re running from something…”
Vash smiles, the kind of smile he’s realized Wolfwood hates, the one that never reaches his eyes. “I promise, it’s not that big of a deal. I really appreciate all your generosity.”
And he does! But also can see when he’s overstayed his welcome.
So that night, when Wolfwood goes on one of his drives, the long rambling ones that last almost a whole pack of cigarettes, Vash takes the opportunity to straighten the rectory, pack up his meager belongings, and give one last lingering look to Hopeland’s grounds, slumbering beneath the blanket of night.
“Take care, everyone. Bless you all.”
And that was it.
Wolfwood doesn’t need Vash around. So what if they’ve made some fun memories together? It’s a few weeks of his life; Wolfwood’ll get over it soon enough once he’s able to remind himself how short a time (relatively) it’s been. Besides, he’s got more important shit to worry about. The crucifix is crooked, has been leaning and slowly getting worse until it became so noticeable that the little grannies are starting to wag their fingers over it. That’s a much more pressing issue. He can throw himself into helping people who need it enough to accept it, and forget everything involving spiky-haired blonds in the process.
And it’s not like Vash’ll care either, not with how quickly he left. He vanished into the night, leaving the rectory as though he’d never ever been there. Wolfwood’s memories are all that remain, and they’re not—
He shakes his head, ignoring the literal fucking way his heart throbs, as though heartache is a real fucking thing he can be plagued with.
There’s nothing but his own shoes now, lacking their knee-high, strappy companions. That’s fine; Wolfwood shouldn’t really be sharing his living space anyway. It’s one less problem to worry about. It’s one less distraction, when all he should worry about is his job and taking care of this place.
The well-worn paths around the church beg for a lanky companion to stroll beside him. The uneven brickwork stays out of his way, as though even it knows he’s at the limit of some emotional mess that a physical annoyance would decimate, and Wolfwood would like to fight himself for going on that stupid journey of a thought process. He’s a grown man, and a priest besides, he’s not going to flip his shit if he stumbles a little.
He shoves those thoughts down and throws the door open. No one’s in the church at this time of day, so it’s the perfect time to get up there and fix things. He pops open a hidden panel to reveal a dusty set of steps spiraling up into the dimly lit rafters. If the crucifix hadn’t kept listing further and further like a crappy imitation of the Leaning Tower of Pisa, he’d never go up here.
Whatever. He’d rather fix it then have it eventually topple over the edge and hurt someone. It’s supposed to be secured enough to prevent that, but its current position doesn’t give him much reason to trust it.
Wolfwood shifts the tool bag more securely onto his shoulder and begins his climb.
The narrow stairs are so steep they might as well be a glorified ladder. He’d replace it if anyone else used it. Instead, it’s his risky ascent, creaking wood sounding everything and nothing like the way his couch creaked every time Vash shifted on it.
Fuck.
Why is his heart convinced that he’s the desperate protagonist pining for his love interest? He’s not. He’s not even supposed to care about that sort of thing, let alone with cagey blonds. It’s not his fault that Vash has a big heart - he also seems to have a metric fuckton of baggage to go with all those good intentions.
So why is he still thinking about him? He can usually ignore shit like this and move on, but he’s dwelling on it like his heart has been trampled by the over-enthusiastic kiddos at the orphanage.
He goes up, up, and turns the corner, then hikes up the next set of stairs, until finally it gives up the pretense and just becomes a ladder. Knowing Vash, he’d probably have something to say about Wolfwood being safe, or taking risks he wouldn’t ask of others. Well, too bad, so sad, Blondie- he’s gonna do whatever it takes to get things done.
The ladder deposits him onto a sturdy platform that gives him hope about the beam he has to cross to get to the crucifix.
For a brief moment, though, he considers other options: What if he used a ladder to reach this instead? Could he even get a ladder tall enough? It’d probably take too long to afford and get out here, so he sticks with his original plan. He sets the toolbag down and opens it up, shoving what he needs into the pockets of his cassock and praying they don’t try to make a break for it.
Wolfwood takes one step onto the beam and makes the rookie mistake of looking down. The marble altar and floors loom up beneath him as though the vesperal cloth is laid out to catch his body when he falls. His vision swims, and Wolfwood drags his gaze elsewhere, looking anywhere but the unforgiving ground below.
One foot in front of the other. It’s more than wide enough for him to stand on, no matter how narrow it looks.
Has the church always been this wide?
He’s overreacting, like he does with everything now apparently. There’s no reason to make a big deal out of general maintenance - as if he’s not crawling around doing stuff like this every day. He did it for years with no one but himself for company, and he doesn’t-
He’s gonna fix this and have a fucking drink after and then go from there.
Wolfwood stares down the crucifix in front of him. It’s even bigger this close up, all the details carved deep in the wood to be visible from all the seats far below it. Here the contrast is jarring; no one is meant to see all the imperfections in the grooves or the way extreme features can be unsettling instead of comforting. Jesus’s face twists in grotesquely overstated torment, and Wolfwood shakes his head. It’s just a stupid ornament.
He can see it, because he’s unshakable, and he knows what is kept behind the scenes to make it palatable for the general public. Who cares? He’s up here to make sure Jesus doesn’t fall and crush some innocent little kid, not worry about what he’s supposed to be faithful to. He’s got faith in the importance of taking care of this community, and isn’t that the most important value he’s supposed to get out of this anyway?
“Okay, big guy,” Wolfwood mumbles, pulling the screwdriver out of his pocket. “Let’s get you tightened up before you spin so far people start mistaking you for St. Peter.”
Some of the screws came loose, letting it lean and putting too much pressure on the braces of its base. Once he tightens everything, it should be good for a while, but he should eventually figure out how to reinforce the base. No matter how much he’d like to hope, it’ll eventually end up in this state again, and Wolfwood isn’t going to put future churchgoers at risk to save himself another trip up here.
He carefully leans forward, pushing the crucifix back into position and going to work with the screwdriver. The wall might be part of the problem too, he realizes, seeing how the screws have slowly pulled themselves out, stripping the holes in the process. He’s going to have to push more maintenance higher up his to-do list, just lovely.
“Come on…there you go.”
From up here, it’s harder to see the change, but he’s sure it’s safer now, if nothing else. All he has to do now is climb down all those rickety stairs, admire his handiwork, and get to that reward he promised himself.
He slowly pushes back into a straight, standing position, but the screwdriver in his hand catches on the crucifix and slips from his grasp. Out of reflex, Wolfwood reaches for it, hoping to snatch it out of the air before it tumbles all the way down, and instead—He pitches forward again, balance lost, his feet struggling to keep him upright in such a precarious place.
And then he falls, as if to prove his mental image of Vash right. He shouldn’t have done this alone.
Fuck, he hopes none of the kids find him.
Any other introspection is pointless- he always knew his life was nothing but borrowed time, and once they get over the shock, he’s sure the kids’ll be fine without him smoking and drinking when no ones looking. He kinda wishes he’d said a better goodbye to Spiky, but how was he supposed to know it was the end, final and forever? He squeezes his eyes shut, bracing for impact.
His body slams hard into not the floor, but the gentle embrace of a pair of arms.
What?
Is he already dead?
Wolfwood opens his eyes and is greeted by the wall above the altar. That’s not right. He twists his neck, trying to find an answer that makes sense, and his gaze lands on Vash’s face, haloed by the midday light. His eyes seem even more impossibly blue, and his smile is as beneficent as a painting of a saint or angel.
And angel seems right, because the wings holding them aloft aren’t from any perspective trick.
“Oh, so I am fucking dead.” That’s the best explanation he’s got for whatever the hell is going on with Spiky the winged hero here. It’s impossible—
“Not this time, Wolfwood.” The solemn gravity of Vash’s tone is so alien to Wolfwood that it puts a stop to his current line of thought.
“Okay, then…what the hell is happening? Seriously, this is…”
“Yeah,” Vash agrees. “Kinda looks weird, huh?”
“Weird even for you, Spiky,” Wolfwood says. “So?”
Vash chews on his answer for a bit before answering. “I was coming back to try to talk to you, actually, and found you in here, and— I wasn’t going to let something bad happen to you, I just couldn’t, Wolfwood.”
It’s really hard to get mad at Vash when he’s cradling him in his arms like this, or even to hold him accountable for running off in the middle of the night. He’s still not sure this isn’t some death’s door hallucination, the grim reaper taking the form of someone familiar. This whole thing is so beyond what he expected from Vash, but also…
“So, what, you sprouted wings out of pure determination?” He should really stop harrassing Vash and just say thank you, but his mouth has a mind of its fucking own its seems.
Vash shifts his grip on Wolfwood, looking like he wishes he could scratch the back of his head or wave off Wolfwood’s comments instead. “I mean…come on, Wolfwood- you’re a smart guy. You don’t believe that.”
“You’re right, I don’t.
“But I couldn’t- Wolfwood, please try to understand your own worth. You do so much for the world and it would be less without you in it.” Wolfwood’s face heats up. Isn’t it enough that he’s being held so tenderly? Does he also have to get this dramatic, feelsy speech?
“Seriously, I got it, all life is precious in the Lord’s eyes–”
“No, you don’t,” Vash cuts in emphatically. “You live like you’re not gonna die but all the risks you take pretty much guarantee you will sooner rather than later. And I don’t want that.”
“Spiky…”
Vash sniffles. “You worried me.”
He shrugs awkwardly. “Uh. Sorry? Look, this wasn’t some sort of dumbass suicide attempt, I legitimately just lost my footing. Good thing I’ve got my guardian angel, huh?”
“Guardian- It’s not like there’s actually one for everyone,” Vash mutters.
“Ah, the sweet angel gossip,” Wolfwood teases, and, finally, that’s enough to break the tension, with Vash laughing in response. It’s always better when he smiles.
“C’mon don’t expect me to be that in the loop,” he shoots back. “We- we should really get down before anyone else comes in here.”
“Yeah, wouldn’t want anyone seeing you in all your ‘Be Not Afraid,’ glory,” Wolfwood agrees, lightly tugging on some of the feathers around Vash’s face as they land.
“Hey now,” he whines, swatting at Wolfwood’s hand. Vash looks radiant, damn near messianic, and Wolfwood wonders if it really is just the midday sun or if he’s actually glowing a little on his own. It’s almost hard to remember that no, this is just his broom-headed friend he found in the gutter. Appearances can be deceiving and all that.
“Alright, Blondie, let’s either smuggle you out of here or turn off all the feathers, “Wolfwood says, itching for a cigarette. Is it the best idea to smoke in the church? No, so he’s gotta haul ass outta here so he can. Cigarette and a stiff drink.
Vash laughs nervously, holding his hands up. “Don’t worry, I’m not stuck like this or anything. Just…” he trails off, not quite making eye contact. The wings fold against his body, feathers and light all condensing until they vanish somehow through the rumpled red fabric of his coat. And then it’s just Vash- gangly and scarred, the only glow that of his winning smile.
“Lookin’ good.”
“Normal?”
“I don’t think you’ve ever been ‘normal,’ Spiky.”
Vash pouts, as though he’s totally unaware of how strange he is.
“Look, I was planning on a celebratory drink after finishing this, so why don’t you join me? If I loiter around too much—”
“Someone’ll find you and you won’t get a second alone, I’ve seen it,” Vash finishes for him. “A drink sounds nice.”
Is it really this easy? It’s been…two days, maybe, since Vash just up and left without a word because Wolfwood just had to go poking at where he’d come from, and already, Vash falls in step next to him along the worn path to the rectory. He still has questions - just some different ones now - and he’s still worried about Vash not taking care of himself, holy radiance or not.
Or…whatever is going on. Pretty sure he’s some sort of otherworldly being, and Wolfwood can’t make himself feel bad about whether or not it’s a sin to get an angel drunk- especially since Vash can easily drink him under the table.
Wait a minute.
Vash opens the door, holding it for Wolfwood like a gentleman and not at all like someone who has maybe been cheating at drinking games.
“So, Angel-boy,” Wolfwood begins, barreling right past the way Vash winces at the nickname. “Can you even get drunk?”
He quirks an eyebrow. “Of course I can.”
“Really?”
“You lost fair and square, Wolfwood,” he says, grinning. “Are you coming inside?”
Wolfwood passes him, pausing just past the doorway to wait for Vash to pull the door shut behind him. “Do you really have to put it that way?”
Vash makes himself comfortable on the couch, his lanky form fitting right in where he belongs. “I knew what you were asking.”
“Gee, thanks, Spiky.”
He shoots him another grin, but the warmth doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Great. Looks like he’ll have to pry answers from him after all. “Do you wanna join me at the table, or is it the couch’s turn to bear witness to our illicit imbibements?”
“Table’s fine with me.”
Wolfwood looks at Vash, though, curled up so cozy on his couch, and decides instead that maybe the couch is the way to go. He pours them each a drink, whiskey on the rocks, and then carries the drinks back to Vash, the bottle tucked under his arm, and sinks into the couch beside him before offering Vash a glass.. There’s no words at first, just the clink of ice in their glasses and the hum of the refrigerator.
How to broach this…Well, trying to talk around it isn’t going to work. He’s spent enough time trying to learn about Blondie to know that by now.
“So, angel, huh?”
Vash’s gaze darts away, settling somewhere over Wolfwood’s left shoulder. “Yeah, guess it kinda looks like that.”
“Well, is it something else? If it only “looks like” it, I’m guessing I guessed wrong.”
“Ahahaha…”
“Spiky—”
“No, no, you’re right,” he admits. “I know you want to know. And…”
Vash trails off, still pointedly avoiding Wolfwood’s eyes. The tension is there again, that weight trying to stifle them and lock them out of each other’s heads and hearts. Why is it easy to fall into step with each other together and yet, neither of them can open their fucking mouths?
“I’m glad you came back.” With that, Vash’s eyes finally lock with his. “Guess you were still on my mind, Spiky. So just…you’re always welcome here, whatever you are, cuz first of all you, you’re…I dunno. Important to me.”
“Wolfwood—”
“I’d rather have you here with all your cagey fucking explanations than trying to press on without you, but don’t think I’m letting you out of this conversation that easily.” He leans forward, jabbing Vash in the chest with his finger. “You ran off in the middle of the night without so much as a goodbye, and I know I maybe shouldn’t been poking at you like that, but we’d had everything going swell and then you vanished! Someone’s gotta hold you accountable.”
“And it’s gonna be you?”
“You got a better option?”
Vash chuckles, grabbing the bottle to refill their glasses. “You’re pretty pushy for all that mercy you promise, but…it suits you.”
“Damn straight.”
“You’re right,” Vash says after a pause, idly swirling the liquid in his glass. “I am an angel.”
He sucks in a breath. He knows what he saw and he’s been teasing Vash about it, dancing ever closer to the answer, but hearing the truth from his lips, no bullshit, feels different. It’s a different kind of weight, the trust of a secret that sounds fantastical and impossible and somehow, like it's the most comforting, natural thing he could learn about Vash.
“So, what, you thought I was some sort of charity case? A priest with no faith, out here in the middle of nowhere—”
“That’s not it,” Vash cuts in sharply, leaning into Wolfwood’s space now. “I’m not here to restore your faith or anything like that- I was in a kinda rough spot and you gave me somewhere safe to stay. Honestly, Wolfwood…”
He doesn’t like the knowing look in Vash’s eyes; maybe it was better when he wouldn’t meet Wolfwood’s gaze. He finds comfort in his glass, taking another drink instead of trying to face whatever truth Vash seems to see when they lock eyes.
“I think you could do with more faith in yourself.” Vash’s eyes bore into him, unavoidable in their intensity. “You spend every waking hour taking care of others, making sure no one is left out or left behind, but when’s the last time you trusted in yourself?”
“Hey, look, I’m—”
“I’m looking, Wolfwood.” Vash isn’t normal; now that he knows, Wolfwood wonders however thought Vash was just some guy crashing on his couch? His features are too much, too perfectly formed, too sharp to be human, and they’re holding him captive. “I see someone who cares deeply and doesn’t give himself enough credit for it.”
Wolfwood shifts in his seat. “I am merely selflessly serving my community.”
“It’s not selfish to believe in yourself.”
“Gonna follow your own advice?”
Vash pauses, his face unreadable now that Wolfwood’s flipped the script. Is it some sort of sacrilege to tell angels to cut the bullshit and listen to their own advice? Probably, but Vash is still just Vash to him.
Huh.
Weird holy radiance did nothing to change that, at least.
“You sure don’t let me get away with anything, do you?” Vash answers finally.
Wolfwood holds his now empty glass up, inviting Vash to do the same. “It’s better this way- sometimes I get to see that real smile of yours.”
Vash clinks their empty glasses together. “Thanks for everything, Wolfwood.”
“Stop talking like you’re one foot out the door.” Wolfwood elbows Vash a little.
Vash rubs his arm where Wolfwood got him. “Just saying thanks!”
Wolfwood pours them another round of drinks. “You know, Spiky…I’ve gotta be a better host.”
“Oh?”
“And you’re leaving a permanent dent in my couch—”
“Hey, I’m pretty sure it was like that when I got here!”
“—so, I’m extending some hospitality, since you’re not gonna skedaddle away any time soon, right?,” he continues, appreciating the way Vash pouts through most of what he’s trying to say. “I figure I should thank you for all the help, anyway.”
Vash’s brows knit together as he tries to figure out what he’s getting out. “It’s really okay, you’ve said thanks already—”
“Nah, don’t be so humble. Wouldn’t you rather sleep in a real bed?”
“I can sleep anywhere, really- and besides, where would you fit another one in here? Your quarters are kinda small.”
Is Spiky really that dense? No way; he’s not really gonna have to spell it out for him…right? “I meant you could use mine.”
He holds his hands up defensively. “I’m not taking your bed from you, Wolfwood! We’re pretty much the same height; you won’t fit on the couch, either.”
Wolfwood barks out a laugh, shaking his head. Is it the naivete of angels? Or something wholly Vash? “Did you never learn about sharing up there amongst all those fluffy clouds?”
“Ahahaha, no, I know how to share,” he says hurriedly. “But…”
“So, what’s the issue?”
It’s not just about sharing and they both know that. It’s an invitation to stay, really stay, and Wolfwood is looking for a promise that Vash isn’t going to leave tomorrow. It’s a commitment to whatever they already have and hope for it to keep growing.
This time, Wolfwood doesn’t hide from Vash’s piercing stare. Fuck, he’s never felt this terrifyingly strongly about something, every second of silence gripping tighter around his heart.
“Of course I’ll stay, Wolfwood,” he agrees, and there it is: that honest smile that Wolfwood sees so rarely and treasures every time.
“Good.”
Wolfwood leans in closer, and Vash does, too, closing the distance. The couch creaks as they shift, and Wolfwood brings his hand up to the back of Vash’s head, pulling him that last bit closer so their lips can meet. Angels can have chapped lips, apparently, and something about that tiny detail thrills Wolfwood— that Vash, this gangly, human, weird, loving, angel is still human enough that he gets chapped lips in the winter months. He gently nips Vash’s lower lip to break the kiss off, and, nuzzling their faces together, Wolfwood sighs.
“Welcome home, Spiky.”