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Vash never called him by his first name.
Not properly. Not to his face.
Oh, Vash said it plenty of times when he was alone, sitting in the corner of the saloon long after the girls had left. The consonants made hard sounds in his mouth, tip-toeing down his tongue like a secret, while the vowels turned slushy, dissolving under the weight of too much alcohol. He'd said:
"Nicholas D. Wolfwood."
"Nichlass D. Wuhwood."
"Ni'clas D'Woofwoof."
"Nicholas. Ni-cho-las."
"Nick."
"Nico."
By the end of it, he was giggling into the table, stupidly charmed by all those letters slotting into the right places; he might as well have been a schoolgirl with a notebook. So, yeah. Technically speaking, Vash has said his name, called him by his given name of 'Nicholas'. But it was only ever 'Wolfwood' to his face.
And then it was too late.
Wolfwood got to call him 'Vash'.
That really wasn't fair.
He said it all the time, in that - that - stupid voice of his, so low and sarcastic and playful and angry and oh, just. Too many things to count.
And it wasn't just 'Vash', either. He had a whole host of creatively bankrupt nicknames for him, poking fun at his hair, his height, anything he could get his hands on.
(Except he never actually put his hands on you, did he, and isn't that a shame, isn't that a shame isn't that a shame isn't isn't isn't -)
But it was always best when it was 'Vash'. It never failed to get a reaction out of him, the single syllable like an electric current applied directly to his spine. He'd be in the middle of doing something, something important, and then Wolfwood would pop up with his stupidly fluffy hair, mouth curved around a cigarette, muffling his voice a little as he called out, "Vash!", and Vash would stand to attention like a trained dog.
It was so embarrassing. It was so... nice. To hear his name said with such enthusiasm. Vash wasn't usually so lucky.
Vash wonders how Wolfwood would've reacted, if he ever called him by his first name. Nicholas, Nick, Nico, whatever - they all sounded good, and Vash had never been able to choose his favourite. (Maybe, if he had enough time -)
Would he have gotten angry - at the rudeness, taking something that was never formally given? Actually angry? Or performatively angry, playing that game they were both so good at, escalating non-issues into slap fights and wrestling while ignoring all the important stuff.
Or maybe he would have been secretly pleased, face flushing at the sound of his own name in Vash's mouth.
Maybe he was disappointed it never happened.
But Vash can still be petulant, and really, it's his fault it never did. If Wolfwood wanted to go by 'Nicholas', he shouldn't have introduced himself surname first, like an ass, holding out his hand with nothing more than an, "I'm Wolfwood. At your service!" on his tongue. 'Wolfwood' was the name he gave to Vash, so that's the one Vash used. And even when things changed, when they knew each other better, he never gave him permission to call him 'Nicholas'. So Vash never took it.
He asked for Vash's name, at the end.
You know, I've only ever known you as the Stampede. You could at least tell me your real name.
Vash hadn't understood at the time. Even after one hundred and fifty years on this planet, 'Vash' was still his name, and Wolfwood already had it. What, did he want him to give him another one?
Maybe he could have. He could have said 'Eriks' instead, reminded Wolfwood of the life he'd pulled him from, like peeling apart two interlaced hands. It would have been cruel. (Vash wants to be cruel, sometimes.)
Or maybe the question was metaphorical, trying to get Vash to define himself in one word that wasn't 'stampede'. But Vash didn't think so. As witty and whip crack smart as Wolfwood was, he wasn't exactly cerebral, far too practical for questions like that. It's one of the things Vash liked about him.
So - what was he looking for? What did he mean by Vash's real name? Hell, if it was names he was looking for, Vash had a whole list to pull from in an emergency -
...Ah.
Realisation settles over him like a cool bath, and Vash needs to close his eyes against it. That's right. He didn't give Wolfwood his name, the first time they met, did he? He'd pulled out that list instead, hoping to annoy Wolfwood into leaving him alone, and the only reason Wolfwood had even learned his name in the first place was because of Milly. Milly gave it to him. Not Vash.
(Apparently, Milly gave Wolfwood a lot of things. Vash doesn't know how to feel about that. The sour feeling in his stomach mixes with his grief, turning it into something that disgusts him.)
(It isn't jealousy.)
(It isn't.)
(..Did Milly get to call him Nicholas -)
(Jealousy is too simple a word.)
So, there it is. As much as Wolfwood used Vash's name, he never actually had it. That had been the last thing he asked for. And Vash still hadn't given it to him.
Instead, he'd... what? Skirted around the facts both of them knew, that Wolfwood was in no condition to fight, self-loathing rolling from him in waves so strong, Vash could taste them in the back of his throat. Said the words, so you can go out and get yourself killed today, as if saying them casually would make them any less true. Dangled his name in front of Wolfwood like an offering, begging without begging for him to stay alive just to learn it, as if the universe had a sense of dramatic irony. As if the universe ever listened to him.
No. When it came down to it, Vash had simply refused him, one last time. And now, there are so many things left unsaid, he's practically choking on them.
Vash buried the body in the earth outside the church. After digging the grave, he'd nestled the body in it as gently as he could manage, folding his arms just-so over the curve of his ribcage. When it was done, he'd stood there for hours, inhumanly still, just looking into the hole. The shovel was in his hand. He couldn't bring himself to move. This was the last time anyone would see that face.
Finally, the shovel broke ground.
"Nicholas."
"Ni-cho-las."
"Nick."
"Nico."
"I'm sorry."