Work Text:
It was fascinating, really, how much could be discovered about humans simply by watching them.
Vash knew he wasn’t smart in the way others expected. Nai had always been praised as the brainiest of the two of them, despite their IQ’s being exactly the same. Rem used to say it wasn’t that Vash was any dumber, he most certainly wasn’t, he just chose to think beyond statistics.
If a cat had been known to bite all other times, then Nai would read these statistics and conclude that it had bitten its owner's child, despite no previous incidents in the last three years. He would live under the assumption the cat had thus been circumvented from harming the child all those years until someone slipped up.
Vash, on the other hand, would say it must not have been the cat. It had lived with that child for three years and never bitten. Therefore it made no sense for the cat to bite now, and more importantly he couldn’t imagine living that long under one roof and no attachments forming.
This was the type of thinking that many called him naive for. Perhaps they were right. But Vash would rather choose to be naive than choose to live in nihilism. That was the part others failed to grasp—Vash wasn’t naive because he was oblivious, but because he was choosing to be as such. He was choosing to believe despite the evidence.
He chose to believe, because what he saw in humanity could not be summed up in words. A hundred and fifty years to watch them, and Vash still knew he hadn’t seen half of what they were capable of. Half of every new way they could love.
Nai liked to sort everything into boxes. The Greeks had come up with multiple different concepts of love, each one with its own name. Nai liked to fire off what he believed this type of category to be when witnessing it on a screen or with the staff on their SEEDS ship, because then he knew where everything was supposed to be.
Vash found those categories overlapped each other in inconceivable ways, and even invented entirely new categories all on their own.
He had since learned many things couldn’t be neatly sorted away like Nai wanted. Emotions in particular were one of these things, especially love. Nai would describe the bond with his twin as philia due its inclusion as brotherly love in some texts and be done with it. Vash would describe it as philia with a touch of philautia (attributed to the twin aspect, and to how much they reflected one another), and something more. Nowadays he’d add mania to the list, but even still that wasn’t enough.
Nai and Rem had both called Vash the manifestation of agape, selfless love. Nai had spat it out and Rem had praised it, but Vash found even still that wasn’t wholly accurate. Agape was the best descriptor, if one had to be given, but he had felt so much more than that for humanity, for individuals. And sometimes, even he knew he could be terribly, terribly selfish.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” Whispered a voice roughed by cigarettes into the skin of his throat, a shiver wracking his body as a hand skimmed up his bare back, “take whatever you want.”
And damn it all, there came a night Vash finally did. He could barely think to feel guilty about it, not when he was greeted with such a proud smile and lovely sounds.
Wolfwood could make Vash feel selfish no matter what he did. This should upset him, and often it did. They were opposites in many ways. After all, to Wolfwood, sometimes being forced to live was worse than the sin of death. No point in keeping someone alive if they were just going to live eternally in pain, that was no kind of life.
Vash knew Wolfwood spoke from a deeply personal place. It scared him when he realized just how personal it was, those words at the forefront of his mind whenever the priest got hurt trying to save him. Terrified he had been, begging Wolfwood to stay. And maybe he started to think that was selfish, to ask him to stay. To know it was because he wanted Wolfwood to stay with him.
That fear faded the time Wolfwood had taken his hand, bloodsoaked as they were, and gasping through the vial Vash forced between his teeth he smiled all crooked and said; “I ain’t lookin’ to leave you anytime soon, Tongari.”
And Vash believed him.
(This would be his undoing.)
Wolfwood had such a terrible way of making selfishness feel damningly good. He begged for Vash to lose the agape that made up his very being—no, that was inaccurate. He begged for Vash to lay it to rest and enjoy the fruits of his labor, as the man himself had once said. To take something he wanted.
And oh, Vash wanted Wolfwood so badly.
He wondered if Wolfwood could tell and that was why he offered himself up. Or maybe he had just been craving and happened upon the realization that Vash was weak when it came to the man with smoke burned into his lungs and a cross at his back.
He’d feel guiltier for it, pursuing the man who was ordered to be at his side, if Wolfwood didn’t insist upon going far further than his job ever asked of him. Vash knew very well there was nothing that made Wolfwood stick around to help out the people Vash got involved with, or allow the de-railing of their journey to swing by some old friends, or drink well into the night just to prove he could hold his liquor better than the Stampede.
(Wolfwood’s thought process had been that Vash was freakishly tall, but he was awfully skinny. A Plant he may be, but Wolfwood himself was biogenetically enhanced and had more muscle mass. Both of them could drink far more than the average human on their own, so Vash couldn’t fault him for wanting to test his theory.
But Vash may have chosen not to mention that he’d had been drinking since humanity figured out how to make alcohol again, well over a century ago, and Wolfwood had only been old enough (and free enough) to grab a beer for the last few years. Nevermind the fact that Plants were made to efficiently filter themselves far better than any liver, and it came as no surprise that Vash won that competition and left Wolfwood’s pockets tragically empty.
He also chose not to mention that despite those odds, Wolfwood had actually gotten very, very close. And even if he hadn’t, Vash almost would’ve given it to him, just to see the glee flow off of him for a little longer. Almost.)
Yes, that guilt would remain. Might remain with him forever, but he felt no guilt in sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Wolfwood and calling him his best friend. Wolfwood himself had proven he thought the same, because he was a good person and despite it all, he’d done the one thing you couldn’t do on a job like this.
“You know, there’s a reason yer supposed to make sure the dogs got a prey drive ‘fore you bring ‘em out on a hunt.” Wolfwood sighed, smoke billowing between his lips as it wafted up towards the ceiling of their motel.
Vash scrunched his nose, waving his hand to move the smoke away from where he sat at the edge of the bed. The window was open, but still. “Because then they won’t hunt?”
“Naw, they can still chase, plenty of dogs know how t’do that.” Wolfwood snorted, and it was with great effort Vash peeled his eyes away from his bare chest to stand up and actually pick up their pile of clothes haphazardly strewn on the floor.
There came a highly appreciative whistle when Vash bent down to untangle his pants from his coat, earning an exasperated look over his shoulder. Wolfwood just grinned (wolfishly, ha), like any other pervert one may spot lingering outside a brothel. Vash had come to realize that Wolfwood had his moments of enjoying playing the role of a leerer, and unfortunately, Vash himself was a very easy target.
(It couldn’t be genuine, obviously, because Vash understood he was attractive purely from the neck-up. Wolfwood was sweet, always was when he kissed those scars and gently petted over each one, even where there was so much nerve damage Vash couldn’t feel a thing.
But that was all it was: sweet, and awfully thoughtful of him. He believed those looks when they’d been teasingly sent Milly’s way, because it was easy to mean them genuinely rather than say it just for a bit of fun. She didn’t make people flinch when she rolled up her sleeve.)
“Pig,” Vash teased, chuckling with it all the same.
“Wolf,” Wolfwood corrected cheerfully. Paused. “God, that was lame.”
“It was.” Vash stuck out his tongue, fumbling to get the fabric apart from each other. “I’ll let it slide.”
“You’re so very gracious, especially considering you’re the pot callin’ the kettle black right now.”
“What were you saying about dogs?” Vash didn’t look over his shoulder, but he knew Wolfwood was smug at the quick topic change.
“Dogs without a proper prey drive ain’t gonna kill the bird right.” Wolfwood spoke as he exhaled through his cigarette again. “Might even hesitate. And then it’s a useless dog. Worse, they don’t know how to kill it how they should. Make the poor thing suffer.” Vash heard the long, slow drag. “You’re supposed to make sure it ain’t gonna feel bad about breakin’ the lil’ thing’s neck.”
This is the closest they ever got to talking about it, the reason Wolfwood was here at all. Vash kept his movements slow as he slung his pants and coat over his arm, then picked up Wolfwood’s blazer a few paces away on the floor.
“Some things you just can’t train a dog to do.” He mumbled.
“Ought to have put it down, then.” He heard Wolfwood distantly. “Dogs that feel bad for bitin’ ain’t no better than the ones who don’t. The birds don’t care, they’re dead all the same.”
“I don’t know,” Vash turned his head a little, but his gaze remained on the wall, “I think it might mean something to the bird.”
He heard Wolfwood exhale, slowly, into their dingy motel room. Distantly, out that open window, they could hear the rolling wheels of a cart being pulled along in the night.
“Then it’s a damn stupid bird.” Wolfwood grunted, and Vash heard him snub his cigarette out on the bedside table.
Wolfwood had a heart that bled far more than he’d ever like to admit. Vash wore that blood on his chest like a target, Wolfwood pulled his blazer tight to hide the stain. And yet, Vash saw the red bursting free from Wolfwood, and in turn, Wolfwood saw just how old Vash’s wound was, caked over and infected at the edges.
Vash had never met another human like him. Every human was different, don’t get him wrong, but he’d never met one that pulled him in quite like Wolfwood. Made him wish for a world where they could do this forever, where they didn’t have a finish line getting closer every day with the promise of bullets and shattered skulls.
Vash would never find the end of all that humanity was capable of feeling. Nor could he find every expression that went with every emotion. But sometimes…sometimes, there was overlap. Sometimes, you knew exactly what an expression meant, because you’d only seen it exist for one reason.
There were many things Vash had seen in humanity. The broad range of all they felt was not always directed to Vash himself, but rather to someone else, and Vash just happened to see it.
For a time one of his favorite things was to just sit in a saloon and people-watch. The ones crying out their sorrows, celebrating, on a date, bored on a random night, and many more. He could almost feel like he was part of them all in that moment, like he belonged there, same as any human.
The saloon they were at now was packed. Meryl and Milly were with them this time, though Milly was already completely shitfaced. Wolfwood found this absolutely hilarious, because he always did, and Vash knew he’d have to intervene at some point before he started trying to convince her to shed her shirt because it was just too hot. Milly had no shame even when she was sober, but on principle Vash should probably halt any troublemaking of that nature in such a public space. That, and Meryl would throw a fit come morning.
Though, when he glanced Meryl’s way, she wasn’t fairing much better. Vash and Wolfwood had been drinking their standard amount, which to a human was already a bit excessive. There were so many people around they didn’t have to pretend to be drunker than they were, because no one was paying attention. Unfortunately, Milly still took this as an invitation to keep drinking, and Meryl was…very small. She was kind of doomed to be a lightweight.
But they’d reached the point where Wolfwood was laughing louder than he normally would, the tiniest slur to his speech and brazen in his movements. Vash knew he wasn’t much better, his laugh was changing from obnoxious to giggly and easily triggered, not to mention he was catching just about anybody's eye to yell good cheer to them, more extroverted than normal. Hey, he was having a good time, why not share it?
At one point he was slumped over his chair, arm thrown over it as he hung his head to the side, grinning the way of a pretty pair of girls that were at least smiling. If it was because he was actually funny, they were trying to entice him, or because he was making a fool of himself—well, all options were plausible.
“Heeeyyy,” He giggled, batting his eyes very dramatically, “yo–you two havin’ fun?”
“We’ll see,” One of them snorted, “you inviting us for some?”
“Always,” Vash perked up, just at the prospect of fun and not for any real innuendos they may have meant or been teasing him about, “say, how abourrk—!”
A hand was suddenly fisted in the lapels of his coat, fingers wrapped tight as he was unceremoniously yanked back around, leaning over the table as Milly started laughing at something unrelated.
Wolfwood’s pupils were blown wider than usual. Still his look was hardened, almost scolding, and Vash was momentarily frozen like pinned in place, a butterfly nailed to a display. All at once he forgot the girls even existed.
“Eyes over here, Tongari.” Wolfwood growled, clear despite the clamor of the saloon. Vash felt his throat struggle around a dry swallow. Then, Wolfwood’s gaze broke to look down and to the left. “Yer gonna waste our booze.”
“Huh?” Vash croaked, then looked. Oh, right, he’d been holding a glass in his other hand, waving it around. Half of it had spilled to the floor in all his moving, and he was dangerously close to knocking into their other scattered drinks. “Oh, whoopsie!”
Wolfwood snorted, slowly unwinding his hand from Vash so he could clumsily re-settle himself. Meryl was making a grabby-hand, so he slid over one of the half-finished glasses with no clear owner. They could indulge a bit, and this was when she was most amenable, flushed to her ears and muttering incoherently.
“Lightweight,” Wolfwood needled, and at once Meryl was up like a shot.
“M’not!” She barked, and Vash sighed as Milly laughed far-too loud again. He couldn’t help smiling himself, watching as Meryl and Wolfwood got into a bitching match yet again.
“You know, sometimes,” He mumbled around the rim of his drink as Milly flopped her head on his shoulder, listening to their friends go on “I can’t tell the difference between them and kindergarteners."
“He started it!” Meryl hollered, broken off from whatever she was scolding Wolfwood about now.
“Ain’t no one said you gotta do somethin’ bout it, shortie.” Wolfwood purred, positively delighted in how Meryl launched into berating him again.
Again, kindergarteners. A boy pulling on the pigtails of a girl just to get her to pay attention to him. One of these days he should tease that Wolfwood would never get a girl to like him back if he kept using that method, but his throat felt a bit tight all of a sudden. He downed the rest of his glass and decided maybe he’d keep that taunt in his own head.
And in any case, Wolfwood was a much better flirt when he was actually trying. How many people had he really gotten to test that out on, anyway?
“Oi,”
Fingers snapping by his face jerked his attention away.
“What I say, blondie?” Wolfwood grinned, crooked and far too charming for his own good. “Eyes up here. Ain’t fishin’ you outta yer own head tonight.”
“I can’t look at you all night.” Vash huffed, resting his cheek on his hand.
“Well why not?” Wolfwood leaned back in his chair, Meryl still grumbling about her issues as he picked up another glass and brought it to his lips. “I ain’t got that problem.”
Vash felt the gentle flush of alcohol burn hotter, down to his neck. Wolfwood was far too smug for his liking, and perhaps he was also a bit of a kindergartener because he felt a very childish urge that he could not ignore.
“Well fine,” Vash pushed himself to stand, steadying Milly when she nearly flopped over, hand on her shoulder, “then I’ll give you something to look at. Hey, Milly?”
“Mmhm?” Milly blinked blearily.
“You wanna dance?” He coaxed, and all at once she was already on her feet.
“Yes!” She squealed, and with that Vash was yanked away in the crowd.
The music in the saloon had been at a rapid-fire, quick-step beat for the last few minutes, meaning there were already plenty of people up and dancing. There was even a stage where the band played at the far back, big enough that loads of people could rise from their seats and bravely step up into full view to dance if they so wished. Vash and Milly got lucky, slipping in while some others were stepping off, just as something with a fast and brutal pace kicked up.
Vash thrived under conditions like that. So despite the alcohol in his system and Milly barely able to keep herself from hitting strangers in the face in her flailing, they made it work.
In no time he’d almost forgotten why he’d gone up to dance in the first place. He was in his element when he was moving quicker than a bullet, and when with a friend like Milly, it was as though the world outside the saloon didn’t exist at all.
Her laughter was drowned in the crowd as he took her hand above her head and led her into a spin, moving around her side quick as a whip as they leaned back, opposing weights keeping each other from toppling over—though they almost did anyway, swaying far too much and nearly knocking into other patrons.
He could almost feel human like this. Not even his red coat stood out all that strong in the crowd, people too drunk and happy to care about a possible bounty in their midst. He really didn’t know why he didn’t do this more often. It was fun to watch humans, but it was far more fun to join them.
It was here Vash finally looked off from the stage. Was this enough of a show for Wolfwood? No doubt he was jeering at the two of them, and already Milly had spun off to let them both dance by themselves as the beat slowed a little, taking on something stronger with a killer vocalist who was overdoing it a little.
Vash found Wolfwood, still at their table. And he paused, slowing his dance to a near-still.
Wolfwood wasn’t jeering. Hell, he didn’t even look slightly mocking. His chin was resting on his palm, a new cig dangling from the corner of his lips despite being under a roof, looking up at the stage with—
The fondest, softest smile he may have ever had. The smoke that drifted upwards drew attention to his gaze, to the pupils swallowing his eyes whole, solely focused on Vash and nothing else.
He looked younger, and he wasn’t even old to begin with (tragically so, he was far too old and far too young). He looked like there was nothing else in the room but what stood in front of him. He looked like he really could watch Vash all night. He looked like—
Sometimes, humans had very clear tells. Tears tended to mean sadness, clenched fists tended to mean anger, and so on. Nai would believe as such, but Vash needed context clues before he could make such an assessment. Maybe someone was crying tears of joy, the very opposite of the perceived emotion. Maybe their fists were tight because they were scared, trying to keep themselves safe. Nai was content to make sweeping gestures based on the most probable option. Vash needed to untangle each and every one, no matter how time-consuming.
He had seen that look before. Never had it been directed towards himself. He’d seen it on the faces of young men as the girl at their arm twirled with delight in her new dress. He’d seen it on the faces of those who watched from afar, a chance gone and never forgotten as a pretty face laughed with another. He’d seen it on the face of an old woman as her husband laughed at his own joke while they strode down the street.
Vash’s heart was a flighty thing. Here it grew wings and struggled against the confines of his ribs, squeezing tight on itself and threatening to burst free and die right there on the stage. Perhaps turn into the black hole his body was made of.
Wolfwood smiled, brighter, eyes crinkling at the corners. That was a face he’d seen directed all across humanity and ached every time—that was love. Such raw, unbridled, drunkenly sick love.
Oh, Vash thought, followed shortly by, oh no.
There were a lot of things Vash could’ve done then. In the end, the answer was likely going to be running for the hills. It was what he was known for, what he was good at. Just running, running, running.
Except there was nowhere to run in a place like this. And more than anything, here came that selfishness Wolfwood continued to feed like a hungry fire: Vash wanted to take that expression and put it in a tiny glass jar, hold it close to his chest and cling like the locket of a long-lost lover.
He couldn’t do that. So instead he hopped off the stage and grabbed Wolfwood by the sleeve, buzzing as the priest laughed and let himself be hauled to his feet. It was surely the alcohol that had made the emotions so clear on his face, or maybe it was the energy in the air. Maybe that’s just how it was with love—it grew and grew until not even a pro at poker could contain it any longer.
What he knew was that Wolfwood had no idea how much of his hand he’d shown in one fell swoop. What he knew was he would never let Wolfwood know, and he felt a smile warm down to his chest as he whispered in his ear, giddy and afraid: “Dance with me.”
“Won’t hold a candle to you, blondie.” Wolfwood rumbled, but he didn’t refute, just let Vash pull him along. Now who was taking who to the gallows?
“I’ll lead,” Vash murmured, and he managed to wiggle them back on the stage as Wolfwood put his cigarette out on the wall.
There came a new song, a better one for trying something out like this, and Vash’s hand slipped over Wolfwood’s, the other by his hip to move them along. It was still fast-paced, because he knew Wolfwood could keep up with the dance. They had danced before, after all—under the rain of gunfire, a tango that sang bright in the bloodstream.
“As you wish.” Wolfwood purred, then gave a firm look. “But don’tcha dare dip me.”
“No?” Vash had suddenly never wanted to do anything more in his life, the evilest of smiles growing.
“No,” Wolfwood thrust a finger in Vash’s face, close enough to nearly jab him in the nose. “Rooms spinning enough as is, I’ll hurl everything on your shoes, I swear I will.”
“It’s spinning because we’re dancing.” Vash chuckled, and he slipped so easily into the ebb and flow that was a familiar body pressed against his own.
Wolfwood may have never gotten to dance like this in his life. It was clear in how jerky his movements were and how he kept looking to Vash to lead him in the way he should move, or to the other patrons and copying them. But he never once stepped on Vash’s toes nor did he fumble where his hands laid. That, at least, needed no instruction. It came so very easily.
Every look from Wolfwood was wretchedly open, like the kid he was supposed to have been. His smile was boyish and his breath fanned over Vash’s neck when they were pressed chest-to-back for just a second. This was really how Wolfwood loved?
Calloused hands dug into his hips, tight and just short of bruising. Yet they released so easily when Vash moved to spin them around, the pace of the song picking up. They should learn how to properly tango, he thought. Wolfwood would find it fun, Vash’s leg slung over his waist as they bent down to fire a shot. Trying to stay alive had never felt more fun than with him.
Wolfwood took Vash’s hand without direction, the song reaching a crescendo. There was a terribly dark glint in his eye that Vash caught, and really he was quick enough to avoid whatever the priest had planned, but why would he? Wolfwood had never registered as a threat to think fast with.
The final note was held, and a hand swooped around Vash’s back barely a second before the floor fell out from under him.
No one in all of Noman’s Land would know what it meant for the Humanoid Typhoon to fall without so much as a singular tense muscle. How implicit that trust had been in those hands around him, in the bright, smug grin above him, eyes lit in the shine of the lamps around the saloon.
Vash could kiss him like this, bowed low. It would take nothing at all, his hand having already wrapped around the back of Wolfwood’s neck. But then that long end-note was ending, and Wolfwood had barely shifted before Vash was letting himself be drawn back up to his feet.
“Ass,” He huffed, and Wolfwood was just so very proud of himself, “so you can dip me, is that right?”
“Well sure, you clearly ain’t worried ‘bout the room spinning.” Wolfwood smirked, and their faces were so very close. He could smell the booze and cigarette ash, neither of which were pleasant and yet they were so ingrained into the scent of Wolfwood. He wanted to lick it out of his mouth. “And you didn’t say I couldn’t now, did you?”
“You’re so unfair,” Vash whined, but he let them be pulled off the stage when the next song started, though they stayed standing beside it. The next song was slower, a wind-down. They weren’t meant for slow-dancing. Vash kind of wanted to pretend they could be, “I can be plenty worried about the room.”
“Yeah?” Wolfwood raised a brow, so very close to where he could’ve been when he dipped Vash low to the floor, sturdy as any foundation. He chose to ignore Vash had purposefully misinterpreted his words. “You worried?”
“No,” Vash murmured, breaths ghosting and overlapping, “not with you.”
The second most selfish thing Vash ever did was kiss Wolfwood after he came to this revelation, inside a loud saloon where they pretended the world was a kinder place. That he didn’t take this moment to turn and run and never look back, spare them the damnation of what would come from this, the things they’d never say and would still always know.
Wolfwood tasted of his booze, his cigarette, and bitter dryness. It was bold of them, when they’d been so scant on affection shown in public spaces. Like allowing others to see made it something real, something they could lose. Vash decided there he wouldn’t let himself lose this, he wouldn’t make Wolfwood regret daring to fall in love despite all that happened to him.
Here is where Vash had never been more selfish in all his life. He knew he did not deserve this. Not one piece of it, most certainly not Wolfwood’s hand steadying his hip nor the ability to weave his fingers into coarse black hair. No one cared to look their way, nothing more than another two people in the crowd, background noise.
Just this once, though, Vash hoped he could keep this anyway. He had never gotten to keep anything in all his life without consequence, but he wanted to try.
He was so very selfish, because here is what he accepted and realized all at once: he was in love with Nicholas D. Wolfwood. And he wanted to keep loving him until he burned from the inside out.
He wanted to see all the ways Wolfwood could love him, and he wanted to look in a mirror and find the ways he could love Wolfwood in turn. He wanted to believe in a suffering man choosing to live with him, in the crude wolf-whistles in dark motel rooms, in the possessive curl of fingertips, in holding one another close without fear of eyes boring into them.
Vash knew he gasped for air a little too loudly when he and Wolfwood separated, foreheads pressed together. Knew this was because of a sharp hitch in his chest and turned his head down, eyes closed so Wolfwood wouldn’t be able to tell. A thumb brushed over his cheek all the same, drying tears that had never fallen.
“Yeah,” Wolfwood murmured, “I ain’t worried, either.”
Vash chuckled, a smile pulling all the same. He allowed himself the selfishness of leaning into Wolfwood’s palm, listening to Milly crowing at them from across the room and knowing this would only last a little while longer.
That look was still there when Vash cracked open his eyes. Gentler, and perhaps just as guilty as Vash felt. How selfish they were, daring to allow this. Vash thought he wanted to see every tomorrow he had left with Wolfwood. He wanted nothing more than to see this to the end, just to keep that look and know this was how the broken men loved.
Instead he only smiled, and he knew it was the one Wolfwood liked just from the reciprocating gesture. He could keep smiling, and keep trying to make them real for him.
He really was a stupid bird.