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When all is said and done, Vash’s hair is pitch black and his markings no longer glow as brightly as they once did whereas Wolfwood can’t carry the Punisher without straining his muscles, much less fight with it and crow’s feet mar the corner of his eyes.
But they’re alive.
They’re alive and where there’s life, there’s hope; where there’s hope, there’s peace and where there’s peace, there’s love.
And love each other they do.
They exchange vows on a couch instead of an altar, with nothing but the bloodied bullet-ridden clothes on their backs and a bottle of Bride. Their honeymoon is spent fixing Hopeland Orphanage and settling into a life where they can simply exist without having to run or fight.
It’s not all sunshine and roses of course. Healing isn’t a linear process and both of them have gotten so used to hurting that the learning curve to do the opposite was a steep one. But they had each other, the insurance-turned-reporter girls, Lina, Sheryl, Miss Melanie, the kids, Livio and Razlo and everyone from Ship 3. All of them doing their own healing and learning after spending so long studying how to survive.
It's a long journey but there are moments that make everything worth it. A flush in his cheeks after spending the whole morning playing with the kids, the smell of homecooked stew, the sawdust clinging to sweaty skin after he fixes some woodwork or another, hearing Meryl and Milly thriving over the staticky radio and helping Livio tend to the thoma chicks.
Falling asleep with an angel in his arms and waking up to a fluffy spiky bedhead the day after that. Scolding him for eating too many donuts he’ll buy fresh from the bakery. Tackling him to the ground whenever they rough-housed with the kids. Touching him, kissing him, holding him, worshipping him, making love with him until both of them are incoherent from pleasure and passion.
Then one day, he notices Vash staring as he rocks a toddler to sleep. Notices how in the week after, he can’t look at a child or a family without the painfully familiar weight of longing in those beautiful green-blues.
Later that night, lying side by side with nothing but the 5 moons as their only light, Wolfwood asks what’s the matter.
Vash says it’s nothing. He comments on how good Wolfwood is with kids, clearly expecting to use it as a deflection.
Wolfwood feints falling for it. Cards his fingers through hair turned the same colour as his own, smelling of the same cheap shampoo he uses.
He reminds Vash that he’s always loved kids. Then, softer, confesses that he wouldn’t mind having kids of his own.
“Bein’ around them everyday….it kinda makes ya wanna have a couple of yer own.” His tone is still soft but his eyes are sharp with knowing because he knew, both of them knew, the effect each word had on Vash.
“Nick-” Vash wanted to say so much. So many words, most of them not even close to the harsh truth; that Wolfwood was right. Vash wanted, he wanted so bad.
And that made it hurt all the more because it wasn’t just a matter of if he wanted to, it’s whether or not he could in the first place. They’ve fucked plenty of times with little to no protection and none of them ever took.
He had no idea if they were compatible and even if Vash’s body was human through and through, there’s a high chance that all the experiments that’s ravaged Wolfwood’s body has rendered him infertile.
But-
What if they could do it?
They’ve already defied death, surely they could try to create new life?
Could they?
Should they?
A shudder ran down Vash’s spine as he was crushed under the combined weight of uncertainty and longing. And oh, how the latter outweighed the former.
“Sssh, I’ve got ya, spikey.” Wolfwood gently kissed away his tears. “Just imagine it. Let’s both indulge.”
Neither of them were strangers to false hope. So, they’ll indulge in the fantasy and if the false happiness remains as it is, at the very least, the disappointment would be shared as well.
“A little girl.” Vash whispered.
“One no bigger than the middle of yer thigh.” Wolfwood tapped the spot. “With her hair all rubbed through with dirt. You’d wash it and I’d braid it. She’ll have your eyes, your hair and your smile, the real deal. Our little cherub.”
“But she’ll have your nose.” Vash gently traced the curve of it. “Your strength, your kindness. She’ll steal your sunglasses to look as cool as her dad. And maybe she’ll steal your shirts too.”
“She’ll swaddle herself in your coat and we’d have to wrestle her out of it for laundry.” And the cycle will repeat until the red’s faded to pink.
Vash shuttered his eyes closed and imagined it. A gap-toothed grin and tiny hands helping him in the garden, a smaller body pressed between him and Wolfwood every night. Would she smell like the sun? Would she snort when she laughs?
“Tell me more.” He swallowed.
Wolfwood stroked his sides. “Tiny grubby hands to hold, tiny toes to tickle and chubby cheeks to kiss. Neither of us will ever put her down. Not when she’s so small we can scoop her up whenever we want.”
“You’ll carry her on your shoulders no matter how big she gets or how much your bones ache.” And when she’s on his shoulders, she’s as protected as she is empowered.
“And whenever she’s tired, she’ll run into your arms and lie in your lap. So long as she’s there, she has nothing to fear, because you’re her mother.” Wolfwood finished.
“And you’d be her father?” maybe the confirmation won’t change anything, but by god will it matter to him.
“Yes, if you’ll let me.” Wolfwood pressed his forehead against Vash, felt warmth pulse against his skull. “Will you let me?”
“Yes.” Vash cried. “Yes, Wolfwood, Nick, please-”
Wolfwood kisses him, and as they pull each other apart, all their rough edges and jagged scars are worn smooth. They go round after round until the twin suns peak over the horizon and the sheets are unsalvageable.
Three months later, the morning sickness starts.
A week after that, they’re heading to Ship 3 for a check-up. Luida confirms that yes, Vash is pregnant and within days, everyone at Hopeland knew about the joyous development.
Miss Melanie, Milly and Sheryl lightheartedly compete to see who had more encyclopaedic knowledge on old wives’ tales about pregnancy and childbirth. Luida and Brad insist that Vash returns to Ship 3 for monthly checkups even though they spend the other 29 days badgering for updates and sending every tidbit of old Earth information they have about childcare. The children clamour around Vash to parrot their names into his growing belly in hopes that it’ll be her first word. Meryl is always ready with her trusty camera to snap pictures of every trimester bump. Lina helps Livio babyproof the thomas coop/stable and the feisty girl somehow manages to gain Razlo’s respect.
And Nicholas is grateful for everyone’s support because good god, pregnancy isn’t a blessing that comes without its hardships.
As the little rounded stiffness at the base of Vash’s abdomen expanded, the skin was stretched taut, forming stretch marks and pulling at the many scars and implants riddling his skin. He could no longer fit into his favourite sweater and his boots may as well be torture devices. Both of them had been over the five moons when their little bean started to move. However, Vash’s spine, ribs, hips and kidneys didn’t share their delight for long.
But he was never alone. Every bout of nausea, every bizarre food craving, every check-up and messy accident; Nicholas is there, fingers holding back his hair, a warm palm rubbing his back or bump and a calloused hand in his.
Aside from bodily aches, Vash supposes one of the shiniest silver linings to his pregnancy is his increased libido. He thought he’d been insatiable before but now? He was unstoppable. But if Vash was an unstoppable force, Nicholas was an immovable object and boy did said object never shy away from giving both of them their fill.
There was also the literal pregnancy glow Vash got. Turns out, an Independent’s markings turn lavender when they’re pregnant. Nicholas had called it beautiful and knowing that it’s another sign of the new life he’s carrying, the life he had a hand in creating? Vash agrees.
Eventually, his stomach gets so big that his center of gravity drops and the short period he spends on his feet is spent waddling like a drunk fat thoma chick, as his husband oh so eloquently described.
“Hey.”
Vash gave a tired smile as Nicholas set a mug of milk and honey in front of him. The blue light of early dawn tinted the kitchen, forming a halo around his angel. What else could Nicholas do but kiss him silly.
“Niiiiick.” Vash whined as Nicholas’s stubble tickled him.
He blew a raspberry into his neck, eliciting more giggles before relenting.
“How’s the little sprout today?”
“Large.” Vash rubbed his planet-sized bump with a grimace. “And heavy.”
Nicholas smirked. “I might have a solution to that.” at Vash’s raised brow he quickly clarified. “Just, here.”
Standing behind Vash, Nicholas wrapped his arms around him and cupped Vash’s bump. The sigh that slipped past his lips at the warm contact turned into a moan of pure relief when Nicholas lifted the bump.
“Better?” Nicholas hummed.
“Yes.” Vash almost wept as his hips and groin were finally given reprieve.
“I think I feel a baby in here.” He hummed.
“You think?” Vash deadpanned.
“Once, she was just an itty-bitty raisin. Looked away for a while and now she’s a whole-ass fruit.” Nicholas shook his head. Where has the time gone?
“Yeah.....” it was actually a little more complicated than that. Chronologically, their child should be the size of a pumpkin, yet the latest scan revealed that she's grown as big as a watermelon.
Luida hypothesized that it was a sign of evolution. Unlike human newborns who are born underdeveloped, which puts them at an immediate disadvantage compared to other species, Independents could give birth to larger more developed infants to increase their survival rate. Considering how rapidly Vash and Nai grew within the first year of their life, it wasn’t farfetched.
That hypothesis had led them both down another existential crisis. What would their baby’s lifespan be? Vash had confessed that with his powers gone, chances are his aging has slowed down to the same pace as a human’s.
While both of them are selfishly glad that they won’t have to outlive each other, they now have to consider their child. Would they speed through childhood and remain immortal upon adulthood? Would they age year by year, just like a human?
Or worse, would they live shorter than an average human?
The last possibility was too much to bear.
Yet.......
Vash pressed his hands over Nicholas’s. Once upon a time, both these hands were tainted with nothing but blood and uncertainties. Yet, these same hands chose to reach out and claw its way towards better tomorrows. These same hands now help each other carry the weight of everything they’ve fought for.
“Spikey?” Nicholas’s brows furrowed in concern. “Are you alright?”
“Huh?” Vash was great, better than great actually, they had a family, a whole future ahead of them so why-
Ah, he was crying.
Nicholas shushed him gently. “Futures are terrifyin’, aren’t they?”
“They are. But they’re also so wonderful. Oh Nick, I love you. I love her. I love you both so much.” Vash sighed.
“I love you too, Vash. I, god.” Nicholas blinked through the sudden blurriness in his vision. “Sometimes, I can’t believe this is real, that both of you’re real. But you are, and I swear I’ll do anything for you both so long as I’m breathin’.”
Vash fluttered his lashes coyly. “Anything?”
“Anything.” Nicholas smirked, teasingly nudging the underside of his swelled chest.
Vash leaned back against Nicholas so his spine was pressed flat against his heartbeat, and shifted his hands down to his belly. “Hold her?”
Nicholas huffed a soft breath against his nape. “Ya don’t even hafta ask.” And did just that.
Vash’s shoulders slumped as both mother and child were embraced by the father.
“Wonder where she goes when lifted up.” Nicholas asked absentmindedly.
“Into your arms.” Vash murmured.
Nicholas’s heart squeezed. Life may’ve given these hands a heavy cross to bear but the two lives now within his grasp have given them a new purpose.
When all is said and done, Nicholas D. Wolfwood helps Vash carry the weight of their tomorrows.
They have an entire collection of them. Volumes upon volumes, with the latest addition bearing the title of Emma Saverem Wolfwood.