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When Vash leaves Wolfwood in the pre-dawn light it’s with a kiss to his pillow-creased cheek and a whispered promise to not forget the good coffee beans. He knows Wolfwood likes to hear the creak of the farmhouse floor marking where Vash is and the squeak of the screen door when he leaves, so he’s not quiet getting his stuff together for his supply trip. A domestically noisy exit promises return, and Vash is sure he’ll be back before Wolfwood’s even done cooking dinner; maybe even before he’s stabled the thoma for the evening and Vash can catch him sweaty and satisfyingly worn from a day tending to their life at home.
He’s so sure, in fact, that when the bus on his way back gets held up he doesn’t even notice at first. The outlaws are only interested in what they can easily sell, and cash if people have it on them, so Vash isn't too worried about escalation. They’re actually kind of polite for bandits. Obviously he doesn't want everyone—or anyone!—getting robbed but it doesn't seem like anyone's going to get hurt at the moment so he's hesitant to interfere. Plus he promised Wolfwood he wouldn't draw attention to himself. He doesn't like it but if this is the worst that happens then he can live with it.
The head bandit makes it to Vash sitting in the back. They don't care about his farm supplies, it’s clear he doesn't really have anything worthwhile. Vash is nervous he'll be recognized but there's no hint of that in the bandit's face. Vash smiles apologetically, waves his hands, placating.
"Sorry, I'm an ex-drifter, I don’t carry much on me. Old habit! But hey, you guys look pretty strong, why not quit while you're ahead, I have a friend who's hiring at the sandsteamer's union—"
"I'll take the ring." The guy holds out his hand.
Oh.
"Haha, this old thing? Nah, you don't want it, it’s just melted bullets, nothing fancy," Vash deflects, lowering his hands to get it out of sight.
Everyone on the bus stares at him. They all gave up their valuables with minimal argument. Vash has given so many bandits so many things over the years. The only thing he’s never given up is his gun, though even that he's handed over to stall when he's known he can get it back. It should be easy at this point.
"The ring," the bandit insists, starting to loom.
"You know, actually, I have an antique revolver—don't worry, it’s not loaded!—if you rather—"
"We're not weapons dealers," sneers a bandit toward the front of the bus, which, sure, Vash approves of.
"Totally, good choice, in that case my arm, prosthetic, is way more valuable, the materials alone could—"
"The hell am I gonna do with an arm? Gimme the ring so we can all get on with our day."
"Well," Vash says, his placating smile starting to drop. "No."
"No? No?? That's not how this works," the bandit lurches forward, making a grab at Vash's hand. Vash catches his wrist in a crushing grip that has the man yelping like a dog that got its tail stepped on.
"No," Vash says again, low. An icy fist of anger blooms in his chest. He is abruptly very, very done with all this. The bandit tries to swing at him with his other hand, Vash dodges and squeezes the bandit’s wrist until everyone hears a loud, sickening pop. The bandit howls. All hell breaks loose.
Vash makes it home three hours later than he was supposed to. It's dark. Wolfwood's smoking on the porch steps waiting for him with a few lamps lit, their little farmhouse windows glowing and warm behind him. Vash dumps his big bag of farm stuff and drops himself, sidesaddle, into Wolfwood's lap.
"Hello lover," Vash croons, dipping his eyelids low and heavy in the lamplight the way he's seen saloon girls do. All he wanted today was Wolfwood and having him now brings relief that’s a swirl of exhaustion and leftover giddy adrenaline.
"What'd you get into," Wolfwood asks, voice a bit too casual as he stubs out his cigarette to wrap an arm around Vash's waist. He kisses Vash before he can even answer, which suits him just fine.
Wolfwood is warm and raspy and tastes gently sweet-sour. Vash guesses they’re having something with citrus tonight, the pan sauce Wolfwood's been slowly perfecting.
"Sorry m'so late," Vash mumbles when Wolfwood kisses the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, below his ear, moving to nuzzle Vash’s neck. "Had to take a detour on the ride back. Bus broke down."
Wolfwood wraps both arms around Vash's waist, tightening his hold, which is nice until he says into Vash's neck, "Is a detour the reason you smell like gunpowder and explosives?" and Vash realizes he's been lured and trapped.
He tries to wiggle free even though it’s useless. Wolfwood's arms are exquisitely strong.
"You see, there were these rude bandits that were really overbearing—" Wolfwood's arms tighten more, cutting him off. He still has his face crammed into Vash's neck.
"They didn't—were they—" the way Wolfwood stumbles over his words has Vash immediately slinging his arms around Wolfwood's shoulders. He cradles the back of Wolfwood's head with one hand, clutches the little fitted pleat between Wolfwood's shoulder blades with the other.
"No no!" Vash rushes to say, burying his nose in Wolfwood's hair. He kisses the top of Wolfwood's head over and over in frantic reassurance. "Not for me, they weren’t there for me! Didn’t even recognize me! They just…couldn’t leave well enough alone."
Wolfwood's arms relax and his forehead rests against Vash's shoulder.
"Uh-huh," he says and waits for the heavy quiet to be too much for Vash. Vash always thought he'd mastered leaving empty space untouched but Wolfwood had learned to weaponize it.
"They kept bothering this guy about," Vash swallows, suddenly shy, "about his ring. They were taking everyone’s jewelry and money, and even though the guy offered stuff they definitely could've sold for more instead, they couldn’t be reasoned with and things got a bit, um. Heated."
Wolfwood pulls back to look at him. His eyes are wide and Vash can tell he's trying not to smile.
"You blew up a bus because they wanted your ring?"
Vash slumps. "Yeah. I didn’t even know buses could explode like that, I thought it'd just be a lot of smoke. None of the passengers got hurt and the bandits only got a bit burnt. One has a dislocated wrist, maybe broken. I know we said we'd keep a low profile but it’s mine, Wolfwood! You gave it to me! You gave it to me and said you’re mine and I’m yours and we went through hell to—” he stops himself with a huff. “I wasn’t going to let them take it!"
Wolfwood scoops one arm under Vash's knees suddenly and stands up, Vash clutching at him with a surprised squawk. Wolfwood turns on his heel and carries Vash like a new bride. He pauses at the doorway, smiling at Vash big and dopey now.
"Damn right. My good influence is finally rubbing off on you."
Wolfwood’s open glee and easy, proud affection make Vash feel floaty, realigned, like he’s here, home, at last. Vash waggles his eyebrows, grinning back.
"You know you can always rub off on me, baby."
The tops of Wolfwood's cheekbones flush ruddy. It's incredibly satisfying.
"Dinner first," Wolfwood says, giving Vash a quick peck before hip-checking the door open and carrying him over the threshold.