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The last time Vash had seen Wolfwood drunk was almost a year ago, now. It was two days after a gunfight — one triggered by them (or rather Vash) traveling through a town. A young mother had been caught in the line of fire. She did not survive.
Vash thinks back on it sometimes — on the blood, the crying child, and on Wolfwood’s despair. He knew, of course, that it was all his fault. If it weren’t for him, the woman would have lived, and the child would not be motherless. Wolfwood himself had made this quite clear in the hours after the shootout, his voice loud, strain and stress in every inch of him, hands shaking, eyelashes refusing to part with his tears.
It wasn’t uncommon for Wolfwood to speak to him so harshly, but he usually avoided loading blame onto Vash alone, and the fact that he did so, mercilessly, told Vash everything he needed to know: Wolfwood had blamed himself — not Vash, not really — and he could not cope with the loss.
Vash understood. Wolfwood was always hit the hardest when children were involved.
Wolfwood hadn’t talked to him for days after, except for when he was too drunk to stop himself.
He wasn’t a mean drunk. It wasn’t a surprise to Vash — Wolfwood isn’t a mean person, even if he pretends he is, sometimes. For a man who tries to bury his own kindness under harsh violence and harsher words, he was remarkably gentle when that desire to hide was stripped away.
Vash found it charming, not that he would ever tell Wolfwood that.
On the nights after the shootout, after long days of silence between them, Wolfwood would drink, and when he had enough, he would talk. He would tell Vash it wasn’t your fault; I was just upset, you shouldn’t listen to a thing that comes outta my goddamn mouth, Spikes.
Vash had learned from experience that it’s best not to argue with drunk men, so he’d let Wolfwood have his way, however wrong he was. He had also learned that Wolfwood’s heavy drinking was usually a sign that his emotions were even heavier, that the drinking helped him carry them, somehow, or maybe let him put that weight down altogether.
And, well, Vash wasn’t going to get in the way of that. Wolfwood deserved some peace of mind whenever and wherever he could get it, as far as Vash was concerned.
So, when Vash finds Wolfwood slumped over a bar in the early evening, he thinks the spike of concern he feels is justified.
Things have been… good, recently. As shocking and as rare as it is, the two of them haven’t faced many troubles in the past few weeks. They’ve been on the go as usual, stopping in the nearest town whenever they could afford to spend a night or two in an actual bed. And they have been able to afford it. The jobs they’ve had recently have been paying well, and no one’s even shot at them — well, much — or run them out of town. It’s the kind of luck Vash hasn’t had in… ever, he thinks.
So what could be troubling Wolfwood enough for him to go off and get drunk like this?
The worst possible scenarios flood Vash’s mind. Wolfwood is deathly ill, and he hasn’t told Vash. Wolfwood got into trouble with local authorities a few towns over, and they’ve been on their trail, and he hasn’t told Vash. Wolfwood’s home, the orphanage he grew up in, has been struck by disaster, and he is distressed, and he hasn’t told Vash. Wolfwood has realized he doesn’t have much use for Vash, never really has, and he hasn’t told—
Someone lets out an ahem from behind the bar. Vash looks up, realizing he had been standing frozen by the entrance, focused only on Wolfwood.
The bartender raises an eyebrow at him. “You know this guy?” he asks.
Vash nods hesitantly.
“Fan-fucking-tastic,” the bartender says. “You’re paying his bill, then, I don’t give a fuck. Take it up with him when he pulls himself together, but don’t complain to me about it, y’hear?”
His tone makes Vash stand up straighter. He plasters a smile on his face and forces out a laugh.
“Oh, uh— yes, sir! Sorry for the trouble…?”
The man huffs, gathers the three empty glasses sitting in front of Wolfwood in one giant palm with a loud clink, and hobbles away to the other end of the bar where other customers waited.
Vash walks to Wolfwood slowly, unnerved by his stillness. For someone who is always, always on high-alert, even in his sleep — Vash has witnessed him snap from the deepest slumber into a battle-ready stance more times than he can count — the way he doesn’t even twitch when approached from behind is… unlike him, to say the least.
Still, it’s his hypervigilance which makes Vash tap his shoulder cautiously.
Wolfwood doesn’t stir. It must be worse than Vash thought, then.
Panic shoots through him as he desperately tries to recall if he’d done anything recently to trigger Wolfwood’s drinking. Did he say something to him that was insensitive without Vash realizing it at the time? He doesn’t think so, and even if he did, it usually took at least a bloody injury to get Wolfwood doing this.
But what else could it be? Things have been great recently!
Unless… maybe he was too quick to dismiss his earlier thoughts. Maybe Wolfwood is sick, or— or tired of him, wishing to leave him behind….
Wolfwood jolts so suddenly it makes Vash flinch and pull his hand back from his shoulder. Vash watches as he blinks at the lights, lets out a loud groan, and lets his head fall onto the bar so hard it makes the bottles at its edge rattle.
He seems perfectly content to stay there, which just won’t do, even if he doesn’t want Vash’s company.
“No, no,” Vash says. He knocks on the bar in front of Wolfwood’s face, which prompts him to look up, squinting. “You can’t sleep here. How about I take you back to the room, hmm?”
The look Wolfwood gives him, confused and uncomprehending, is one Vash hasn’t seen since Wolfwood saw his plant markings for the first time. Vash spares a moment to make sure he isn’t glowing, then reaches into his pocket to grab all the cash he has. He doesn’t know how much Wolfwood had to drink, and he doubts this is enough to cover it, but it’s all he has, so he places it on the bar. Now he just needs to get them both out of here before the bartender can return to demand rightful payment. That never ends well.
“Alright, up we go,” Vash says, ducking under Wolfwood’s arm to support his weight over his shoulders. He wraps his arm around his waist to haul him out of his seat.
“Woah,” Wolfwood slurs. “I appreciate your—” he cuts off, mumbles something Vash doesn’t quite catch, “— bein’ a little too handsy for me.”
Vash almost chuckles but holds it back lest the sound attract the bartender’s attention again.
“Sorry,” he says instead. “Let’s just get you settled somewhere else.”
Wolfwood frowns — no, pouts? — before saying, “’M not leaving without Vash.”
It’s only then that Vash realizes Wolfwood hasn’t really looked at him properly, that he’s distracted, his focus elsewhere. He is much, much more drunk than he normally gets.
“Alright,” Vash says, easily. “Let’s go find him first, then.”
This seems acceptable to Wolfwood’s whiskey-addled mind. He leans into Vash more trustingly than Vash wishes he would trust a stranger (or someone he thinks is a stranger).
“My gun,” Wolfwood mumbles, halfheartedly nodding his head towards the Punisher, as if Vash could miss it.
He grabs it, thankful that he has the inhuman strength needed to haul it with one arm and a full-grown man with the other.
Once Vash hurries away far enough to ease his concern about the bartender coming after them, he allows his focus to turn entirely to Wolfwood. He hasn’t spoken since they’ve been outside, and he’s now leaning heavier on Vash than he would be if he were awake. Not that Vash minds, really. Wolfwood should sleep, if he needs it.
The problem is that it leaves Vash clumsily ambling across town with cargo that could easily draw some unwanted attention. It makes him feel more vulnerable than he has in some time, with Wolfwood unable to defend himself should anyone decide to come after him. With Vash’s luck, the scenario doesn’t seem unlikely.
The room they’ve rented is still multiple blocks away. Vash stops in his tracks, feels Wolfwood’s breath on his neck, and turns to lead them into an alley.
It’s quiet, and not too dirty. There are no windows in the walls surrounding them, no one watching them. He leans the Punisher against the wall, then settles Wolfwood down next to it. A breeze whistles its way past them. Vash sheds his coat, tucks it around Wolfwood’s frame, and sits beside him.
Wolfwood leans into him in his sleep, seeking warmth, or maybe just seeking Vash. What’s the difference? Wolfwood’s voice says, somewhere in the back of Vash’s mind. He wraps an arm around him, pulling him closer.
He doesn’t think about why Wolfwood was drinking so much. He doesn’t think about what could be upsetting him enough to make him want to. Vash tells himself not to worry so much and convinces himself Wolfwood would tell him truthfully, if he asked him. He holds Wolfwood, looks at the stars, and listens for any sounds of trouble.
An hour later — or two, or three? — Wolfwood stirs. He lifts his head from Vash’s shoulder in a half-aborted jolt, as if his body is a few steps behind his mind.
“Shh,” Vash says. “We’re alright. You were just resting.”
Wolfwood responds with a pained moan. His head must be killing him.
“Vash,” he says.
Vash isn’t sure if it’s a question. He feels at a loss, somehow, suddenly. He can’t remember the last time Wolfwood called him by his name, and now he’s done so twice in one night. It’s more jarring than it should be, he thinks.
“Yes?”
Wolfwood’s eyes drift to Vash’s coat surrounding him, then his face scrunches in confusion.
“Sorry,” he says, barely audible.
Vash can’t keep the surprise out of his voice. “Huh? What for?”
“I’ve got a partner.”
“You… what?”
Wolfwood nods, his face pressed into Vash’s arm. “Vash.”
Vash’s thoughts are a mess. “What is it?”
“His name.”
Ah. He still doesn’t realize I’m me.
Vash’s heartrate settles, and he allows himself to laugh a little at his own insecurity. Of course Wolfwood wasn’t talking about someone else. Of course he hasn’t been drinking because he’s missing some other partner and doesn’t know how to bring it up with Vash. Of course he would almost give Vash a panic attack simply because he drank too much to recognize him.
“What’s funny?” Wolfwood grumbles, brows pulled together in a frown.
“Ah, nothing, don’t worry.”
“Vash is a good name.”
This, of course, was not why he’d been laughing, but Vash feels no need to correct him. If anything…
“Eh, it’s alright,” Vash says.
Wolfwood lets out an offended huff, using all the drunken strength left in him to shove Vash hard enough for him to feel it. Vash holds in another laugh.
“Take that back!”
“Alright, fine, stop hitting me! It’s a great name. Happy?”
Wolfwood only sniffles before settling back against Vash’s now-bruising arm.
Vash thinks offhandedly that he would give almost anything to be able to see into Wolfwood’s head right now. He’s rarely so open, though he is always so protective, apparently. It’s… really something. It fills him with more fondness than he knows what to do with.
Briefly contemplating the ethics of urging an exceptionally drunk man to speak on his well-guarded thoughts and emotions, Vash quickly decides it’s the only way he can be compensated for the near heart attack Wolfwood almost gave him moments ago. He clears his throat.
“Tell me about him?” he asks.
Wolfwood doesn’t respond right away. Enough time passes that Vash begins to worry that he’s fallen asleep again. He’s just starting to mourn the early death of his plan when Wolfwood answers: “He’s stupid as hell.”
Vash should have expected this, really. It’s actually reassuring that Wolfwood isn’t that far gone.
“But he’s… everything,” Wolfwood continues. “I’d do anythin’ for him.”
Vash knows. Even if Wolfwood has never said it outright, he’s always known. He can’t say it isn’t nice to hear, though. The words are a balm to his nerves, even if they make his throat feel tight with emotion.
Vash’s coat has slipped from Wolfwood’s shoulder. He tucks it back in place, though Wolfwood doesn’t seem to notice the gesture.
“Wolfwood… why did you drink so much tonight?”
He’s slow to respond again. Vash lets him take his time, questioning whether he really wants to know the answer.
“Never cared ‘bout someone like that,” Wolfwood says, voice low in consideration. “It’s… a lot.”
Someone like that. Like Vash? He is a lot. With the bounty and the running and the shootouts… of course it’s a lot. Is it too much? Is Wolfwood finally feeling the strain? How could Vash have missed the signs?
“What’s a lot?” He asks, because he needs to hear it, he needs to know. He needs to fix it. He can fix it.
“The love,” Wolfwood says. “Dunno what to do with it, sometimes.”
It’s not the love part that strikes him. Wolfwood is full of love, Vash knows. Overflowing with it, really, even though he’d probably cuss at anyone who said so out loud. He knows Wolfwood loves him just as much as he loves Wolfwood. No, what strikes Vash is—
“You’re crying.”
“Ah,” Wolfwood says, wiping his face on Vash’s sleeve shamelessly. “Sorry. Been actin’ like a baby all night, like a— nah. Just. A fuckin’ baby.”
Vash doesn’t laugh, though he thinks he would have if Wolfwood was sober, just to ease his own anxiety. But Wolfwood wouldn’t be like this if he was sober, and if he was sober, he’d see right through Vash anyway. He just stares instead, taking in the sight of Wolfwood’s damp face.
“It’s alright,” he says. “It’s fine to act like a baby once in a while, I think. You can sleep, if you want. I’ll be here. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
Wolfwood doesn’t say anything else. He starts snoring minutes later. Vash watches the stars until his eyelids drop closed.
When he wakes, it’s to Wolfwood standing over him, the suns shining brightly behind him as he huffs something about a death wish bigger than the sand ocean. Vash is glad to see him standing on his own and more or less back to normal, until he’s pulling at Vash to wrestle him back into his coat.
“You wanna fuckin’ freeze to death, Blondie? Why the fuck’d you take it off in the middle of the night, huh?” He shakes his head, focused on securing Vash’s line of buttons. “Why are we out here, anyway? Still paying for a room across town just to sleep on the damn street.”
Vash yawns, rolling his sore neck. This is what he gets for sleeping against a wall. Not that he hasn’t had worse.
“You don’t remember?” he asks.
“Don’t like the sound of that.”
“So, that’s a no?”
“Spikey, if something happened—”
“It was nothing dangerous. Just came looking for you and you had too much to drink. Didn’t wanna draw attention while getting back to the room with you like that, so I set us up here. And it was kinda cold, so…” he gestures to his coat, now wrapped securely around him once more.
Wolfwood tsks. It’s probably the closest he’ll get to saying thanks with the guilt of “making” Vash go cold eating at him. He eyes Vash suspiciously.
“Nothing happened? Really?”
“Nope! Safe as can be, promise.”
Wolfwood grumbles under his breath, then helps pull Vash to his feet. Vash lets himself fall forward into his space and wraps his arms around him.
It startles Wolfwood, evident in the way he grabs on to Vash, as if worried he actually is injured or otherwise unwell. Vash just holds on, that familiar fondness overcoming him again, and he can’t stop himself from saying what he’s thinking.
“I really love you, you know.”
Wolfwood stiffens a little even as he squeezes him tighter. “’Course I know… Is something wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Everything is really good, actually.”
Wolfwood lets out a long, despair-filled sigh. “I said sappy shit when I was drunk, didn’t I?”
Vash pulls back to smile at him.
“It wasn’t sappy! It was nice!”
“Alright, shut it, we’re leaving.”
He gently extracts himself from Vash’s grip and turns to lift the Punisher, though Vash still spots the blush he’s trying to hide by doing so. Vash can’t help that he’s so easy to tease.
“Don’t you wanna know what you said?”
“Nope,” Wolfwood says, popping the p. He makes his way out of the alley as fast as he can without making it look like he’s fleeing from Vash, who follows close behind.
“I never knew how much you liked my name — you never use it!”
“Spikey, I swear to God—”
“Would you really do anything for me?”
Vash knows the answer, but still. He doesn’t think Wolfwood will be able to deny it, and Vash is allowed some indulgences, surely. Wolfwood stops and flashes him a glare that’s probably more comforting than it should be.
“You’re stupider than I thought if you ever doubted it.”
Vash smiles wider. “Never. I’m just messing with you.”
Wolfwood rolls his eyes and grabs his sleeve to pull him along.