Archive of Our Own

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When the fallout finally clears and the crater is deemed safe to enter, he’s the first one outside of military forces to go down into it, sliding down the steep and uneven terrain, Punisher at his back, until he hits the bottom. He’s here on his own, Shorty left, days ago, not able to stay for obvious reasons- emotional and job related. He doesn’t blame her, she has a mentor to memorialize. He thinks it’s better that way, doesn’t think she’ll be able to handle whatever they might find, not like him. He’s the Punisher. He’s seen and done it all, there’s nothing that’ll get to him that he hasn’t seen before.

At least, that’s what he tells himself, until he finds it. The only piece of Vash left. Wolfwood doesn’t think it would affect him as much as it does to see the black coat there, devoid of the bubbly blonde man. It lays against the remains of a fallen building, looking as if the blonde had simply disintegrated inside of it, leaving the perfect shape of him behind in the form of his coat. He sucks in a sharp breath as he sees it and walks over on shaky legs.

Wolfwood collapses to the ground more than he kneels in front of it, his hand carefully reaching out to touch it as if he thought it too might fall away to ash. But it’s solid under his fingertips and before he can think he’s snatching it up off the ground and holding it in his arms as he buries his face into the fabric. He didn’t think it would hurt to see it, assuming he’d find anything. He didn’t think he’d care as much as he does. Vash is like that though, he worms his way inside of you until you can’t not want to believe in him. He thought he was immune to that effect, but he guesses not.

“You idiot… you fucking idiot ..”

He stays there for only a while longer before getting up and dusting himself off, coat clutched in his grip. Wolfwood moves about the crater where Vash’s coat was found to see if he finds anything else of his, or the man himself, but he finds nothing. All that’s left was the coat, which remained surprisingly intact.

Folding the coat over his arm he heads back the way he came and climbs up the steep side of the crater until he gets to the edge, then hefts himself up onto flat solid ground. His bag is still where he left it, and for now, he folds the coat up and stuffs it gently inside.

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The first time he pulls the blackened coat out is on the Sandsteamer as he heads to Hopeland, to check on Ms. Melanie and the kids, to make sure they’re all right. He’d hadn’t had the time before, when they had traveled, everything proceeding much too fast for him to visit then.

Wolfwood sits down on the deck of the ship, mostly out of sight so no one will bother him, and pulls the coat out from his rucksack, laying it out across his lap before reaching back in and retrieving a sewing kit. Normally he uses it for mending his own clothes when he doesn’t have time or money to buy new ones, one might even use it for stitching themselves up as well, but he has no need for that.

He has to keep the coat from falling apart after all, has to keep it tidy and kept and clean so when- not if- he finds the idiot again he can give it back, same as when he left it minus a few new buttons here or there, the patch resewn on a little crooked. He needs to take care of it like it's his own, folding it neatly into his bag when he's not taking care to fix it.

Once he’s got buttons replaced and the patch on the shoulder resewn, he holds it up to search for any more holes that need stitching. He finds a few where Knives had sliced through the fabric, setting it down in his lap again to take care of those as well, keeping his head empty as he painstakingly fixes each rip and tear and bullet hole. If he thinks about it too much, or at all, it hurts. It hurts so much it feels like his chest will cave in.

When Wolfwood is sure he’s gotten every tear or bullet hole fixed, both inside and out of the coat, he carefully folds it back up and tucks it away in his bag again, before tossing the sewing kit in after. Now he can rest, he thinks, for the rest of the trip with that out of the way.

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The second time Wolfwood pulls the coat out it’s to wash it once he’s safely in Hopeland, holed up at the orphanage in his old room they kept for him for when he visits. He almost snaps at Ms. Melanie when she asks if he wants his clothes washed, holding up the coat. Wolfwood snatches it out of her grasp and says he can do it himself. It takes him a moment to realize what he’s said and done when he takes in her surprised expression. 

He hastily apologizes and says this coat is important, that he can do it himself. She seems to read between the lines and gives him a small, sad smile but relents. Wolfwood waits until it's later in the evening, when most of the kids are either asleep or getting ready for bed before he takes it into one of the bathrooms to wash.

When the bathtub is full of warm water, Wolfwood drops to his knees in front of it and gently presses the coat into the water, watching the way it almost browns immediately with dirt, soot and dried blood from the many times Vash has been shot or shot at throughout their time together. He’s slow and methodical as he gently scrubs the dirt and stains off of the material with soap and warm water, which is a little difficult when the damn thing is now all black in color.

Wolfwood keeps his mind carefully blank, not allowing himself to think of any one thing while he works, his hands hurting from the amount of times he squeezes the water and soap out of the coat just to do it all over again, knowing he’s not going to be satisfied until the water runs clear.

It takes a few hours, he’s not going to rush something this important, this delicate, for the water to finally run clear. He’s refilled the bathtub with clean water three times during the process and wonders if the idiot hadn’t washed it since the day he received it, however long ago that is now. The coat now sits over the back of a chair so it can dry out, and he only puts it away- folding it neatly- when there’s not a damp spot to be found.

Wolfwood takes his leave from Hopeland a week later, needing the reprieve, saying goodbye to the kids and Ms. Melanie, thanking them for letting him stay as long as he has even though he knows they’ll never say no to seeing him. He’ll still thank them. Ms. Melanie asks where he’s off to, and Wolfwood tells her that there’s rumors circulating that Vash the Stampede has been spotted causing havoc in various towns and cities across No Man’s Land. 

He needs to know if the rumors are true or not. Wolfwood knows, first hand, that Vash would never do anything to put anyone in danger let alone purposefully cause trouble. So they’re either just rumors or someone’s using his name for their shitty fifteen minutes of fame. Wolfwood intends to find out and put a plug in it.

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The rumors end up being just that. Rumors. Spread throughout towns and cities to attract attention and bounty hunters, tossing the name out like some tourist attraction. Wolfwood hates it. Don’t they realize just how much Vash had given up for them? To save them? No, of course not. Because humans are selfish creatures and at times he’s no better. He follows rumors and leads of Vash’s name, his resurrection, from town to town in hopes of running into the blonde so he can lay into the man all the ways he’s angry and hurt at him. It’s selfish of him to want that, but he wants it all the same.

Wolfwood is following a lead that takes him to a small rundown town, having heard of someone using Vash’s name to extort money and goods out of the town villagers, something he knows Vash would never do. After speaking with the mayor it doesn’t take him long to find the little hideout the ragtag bandits are using on the outskirts of town.

A few of the bandits greet him, having caught wind that someone was looking for their leader and have come to stop him. They don’t, of course. The men don’t even have time to brandish their weapons before they’re on the ground in a mess of bullet holes and missing limbs. Vash isn’t here to stop him, this time, and it’s less than they deserve, besides. He ignores the bloody mess as he strolls through, heading for the main encampment where the imposter is hiding, the Punisher resting against his shoulder.

Wolfwood finds the leader and his men waiting for him, the sight of the imposter standing there in a mock attempt at daring to look like Vash the Stampede sets his blood on fire. Nothing about the man is right. The hair is too long, not blonde enough, the coat - the coat is all wrong. He knows because he has it. Safe and sound in his rucksack back at town. His lips curl into a snarl.

The man, not-Vash, stares him down and holds up a revolver, aiming at him. “An’ just who t’fuck you think you are?” The man blurts out as his men begin to surround him, pulling out various weapons of attack to form a line of defense around their leader.

Wolfwood watches, unimpressed while they gather but at the question his eyes narrow as he pulls the gun from his shoulder and takes aim, a ruthless grin slowly splitting his lips, teeth sharp.

“Nicholas the Punisher.”

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The first time he wears it is because it gets a little too chilly in the depth of night and all he has is his suit jacket, having left town in the late evening after ridding them of yet another group of bandits brandishing Vash’s name for clout. Gingerly he pulls the coat from his bag, looking at it for a long moment before draping it around his shoulders and shoving his arms through the sleeves as shivers wrack his body

The scent that still clings to the material even after a dozen or so washes is like a punch to the face and it makes him suck in a sharp breath in surprise, his chest twisting and twisting until he lets it back out again in a soft sob, cloaked arms coming up to cover his face as tears spring to his eyes unbidden.

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.  

He hasn't let himself think about it this whole time during his travels, has let himself move on auto-pilot, keeping his head carefully blank and devoid of anything Vash. Until tonight, apparently. Wolfwood knows he messed up, messed up so badly. He never should have left him alone with Knives, he should have followed, just like he had up until that point. But instead he’d turned and walked the other way, leaving Vash to walk a tightrope to his death.

The quiet sobs wrack his body as he pulls the coat tighter around him until it feels like he's being swallowed up by Vash himself; warmed and comforted, his calm scent filling Wolfwood’s senses. 

He should have tried harder, he thinks to himself in the midst of his sorrows, he should have been faster to get there in time. He could have saved both Meryl and Vash if he had, couldn’t he? He remembers the look of relief and the small smile Vash had given him when he had grabbed Meryl from the ledge and it makes him feel like his chest has caved in. He would go back, once he got her to safety.

And Wolfwood tried, he did. But by the time he’d gotten her safely out of what would end up being the blast radius, Vash was already falling from the sky like a shooting star, bright and brilliant, and all they could do was watch.

He wonders idly, as he sniffles softly, hands rubbing at his eyes, if he should have made a wish.

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It becomes easier to wear it after that night, some months later, when he feels he needs to. When the nights are too long and too cold or his emotions run too rampant. Wolfwood tries not to let it consume him, the way the coat feels wrapped around him, Vash’s scent is still so clear that oftentimes he worries for the day will come when it begins to fade and leave him empty. But right now it’s the only thing keeping him going as the leads begin to run cold.

It happens so often that a year later he’s swapped out his suit jacket for the coat, collar high around his neck and Punisher on one shoulder, his rucksack on the other as he trudged through the duney sands. It’s cooler than he thought it’d be considering the weight of the material and the color it has become with the twin suns beating down on him, though he rarely takes it off unless he’s in battle, not wanting anything to happen to it.

Wolfwood will gingerly take the coat off, taking his time folding it up and tucking it away in his bag before picking the Punisher back up. There’s no way he’ll let anything happen to it - not until he can return it to its rightful owner… whenever that will be.

And there will be a time, he’s sure of it. It’s the only thing he has hope for, faith in. The day that he will find Vash and return his belongings to him. The coat and, now, his heart.

This journey to find Vash has taught Wolfwood that and it took a long time for him to come to terms with that, with these feelings he has now toward the blonde, and to accept them. It’s overwhelming sometimes, these feelings and oftentimes he has to stop and parse them out, separate and compartmentalize, in order to work through them, especially in the beginning.

He doesn’t know if anything will come of it once he finds Vash - and he will - but Wolfwood has realized lately that he really wants to find out.

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The search for Vash the Stampede ends almost a year later, in a small town he’s never heard of and never been to until now. Wolfwood has wandered No Man’s Land; town to town, city to city, after the leads and rumors had gone dry though his faith in finding the blonde never wavered, continuing his search.

It isn’t even rumors that lead him here but necessity as his rations are running low and desert staples need to be bought for his journey. Which is how Wolfwood finds him, completely by accident. Walking into the general store the brunette bumps into a man leaving the building at the same time, both stumbling from the unintentional shoulder check as they pass by.

“Aah, sorry!” The man says, before continuing on.

The voice - he knows that voice - catches him off guard and his eyes widen, Wolfwood whirling around to catch sight of him but he’s gone in an instant. Wait, what ? It can’t be …. His shopping list forgotten, Wolfwood bolts out of the building and into the street, looking every which way for the blonde he’d run into but doesn’t see him.

It wasn’t his imagination, right? He’d know the sound of Vash’s voice anywhere and that was definitely him. 

Wolfwood rents a room at the local inn to stash his Punisher and rucksack before heading back out into the streets to continue his search. When he finds nothing he begins asking the townspeople if anyone knows where Vash is but seemingly comes up empty. 

Maybe he really is imagining things.

It feels like he’s running out of time if he doesn’t find Vash now, here in this town. Is he just passing through, like him? Will he disappear again if he doesn’t find him? His heart beats wildly in his chest at the thought - being so close to finding him yet somehow still so far away.

Wolfwood tries one more round through the town asking about Vash and almost gives up when a young boy stops him a few blocks from the inn.

“Are you looking for Mr. Eriks?” The boy asks, looking up at him.

“Hah?” An intelligent reply, he’s sure, but he’s tired and worn out from running around this town chasing a goddamn ghost.

“The man you’re looking for sounds a lot like Mr. Eriks, sir. He’s really nice! And funny and always helps us when we need it!” The boy blathers on and, fuck, if that don’t sound like Vash. Well, maybe not the funny part, anyway.

Wolfwood kneels down to the boy’s level, heart thundering in his ears. “Tell ya what, kiddo, if you can tell me where this Eriks guy is, I’ll give you a sucker,” he says, having no issue with bribing the kid with sweets.

The boy’s big brown eyes go impossibly wide. “Really?! You will?”

“Uh-uh. You know what, since you’re being so helpful, I’ll even give you two,” Wolfwood says, reaching into the pocket of Vash’s coat and producing two wrapped suckers, holding them out to the boy. “How’s about it?”

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The twin suns are starting to give way to dusk, bathing the sky in a myriad of warm hues of deep reds and oranges, when Wolfwood comes upon the house where the boy says Eriks is staying. The backdrop of the desert sunset makes the cozy house truly a sight, but none so beautiful as the blonde man sitting on the porch admiring the view.

As Wolfwood approaches, for what feels like the millionth time today, his heart races in his chest, pulse thundering in his veins as his hands clench and unclench at his sides. He stops short of a few feet from the porch as the blonde man looks up at him in surprise, not having expected company this late, clearly.

A sandsteamer of thoughts runs through Wolfwood’s head as he looks at Vash - Eriks , he reminds himself, a thousand words on the tip of his tongue as he looks at him, taking in the differences from when he last saw the man. His hair is longer but still that bright sunny blonde and his eyes are still just as blue.

The lack of recognition hurts, though, as the blonde watches him cautiously. Vash can’t have gone entirely unscathed from the fall, he supposes. It doesn’t seem that Vash recognizes or remembers him. Memory loss? He can work with that.

The blonde, Eriks, shivers slightly as the desert chill begins to creep in now that the suns are setting and shrugging off the coat, Wolfwood takes the last few steps forward to drape it around the man’s shoulders, returning it to where it belongs, though his heart might take awhile. Blue eyes widen in surprise and spark with… something as they drop down the coat around him before snapping back up to Wolfwood’s face, curious.

“Found ya,” Wolfwood says, voice soft.

“Do I… know you?” Eriks asks, brows raised in question and again those eyes shimmer with something like familiarity.

“Yeah, you should,” he replies, though his tone is not unkind.

“And you are?”

A grin splits across Wolfwood’s face, as a new journey begins, and holds out his hand.

“Nicholas D. Wolfwood, at your service.”