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The sudden wail makes Nick jump awake with a sharp gasp, his eyes flying open. There’s no light or illumination; it’s still pitch black which means it’s still in the middle of the night.
Despite that he can see the contour of Vash’s silhouette next to him, sitting upright, gripping the thin sleeping bag in his shaking hands.
Wolfwood takes a moment to gather his thoughts; it’s night, they’re in that flimsy tent he stole from the last pitstop. He can hear the wind howling and when he squints, his modified sight can make out the outline of the bike outside.
He reaches with his hand under the sand and feels the straps of the Punisher. He squeezes one of them for comfort and then he heaves himself up next to Vash, his heart hammering from worry and the sudden wake up call.
“Hey, hey!” He grabs Vash’s shoulders and shakes them gently when Vash makes another broken noise.
“It’s okay, you’re okay.”
Vash whines and Wolfwood turns him slightly so they’re face to face. He doesn’t need to see him properly but the faint shine in his eyes makes it easier to navigate.
“You’re okay. Spikey.” He repeats one more time. Vash is silent save for his quickened, panicked breath.
Nick hesitates for a second and then lets his mouth form the words slowly.
“Vash.” Nick is surprised by the sound of his own voice; far too soft and pleading, almost as if hie himself is on the verge of losing it.
Suddenly Vash jerks and Nick tightens the grip he still has on his shoulder, hoping it’s grounding enough to help him free his mind from whatever night terrors have claimed him.
Who is he kidding. He knows very well what these night terrors are. Vash basically spelled it out anyway with a broken and whimpered Nai please.
“Wolfwood.” Vash’s voice is raspy. He moves his head a little to the right and Nick feels the warm puff of air on his face from his sigh of relief.
He’s relieved it’s him.
Wolfwood swallows when he feels his stomach drop and then swoop when he realizes. He doesn’t deserve it but he will take it, gladly.
“Yeah. I’m here.” He lets his arm drop down Vash’s arm. His skin is cold and clammy and he feels the goosebumps raise under his fingertips.
“Where-?” Vash gasps when he feels a blanket being wrapped around his shoulders. Wolfwood feels too hot and stuffy in this tent anyway and there’s a small voice in his head that tells him he should suffer these tiny inconveniences anyway.
He deserves them.
He deserves way worse.
“Shh. We’re not on the-,” He pauses, not even wanting to speak the name to Vash, least he triggers something worse in him. “We’re not there anymore.” He reassures and pulls Vash closer to him. He lays them both carefully down on the tarp and this time lets Vash mold himself to his side.
Vash hums and burrows into the warmth offered, Wolfwood can feel his body unwind slowly. He feels so fragile like this. It’s like he’s cradling the smallest and frailest thoma chick, all hollow bones and frumpy feathers.
He doesn’t like to think about Vash like that. Like something made out of glass or sand. Delicate and easy to break, just waiting to slip through his fingers, and gone forever.
Nick knows that’s not who Vash is. But his exhaustion is like an added weight when he lays on top of Wolfwood, his head heavy where his heart beats in his chest.
“We’re back in the desert,” he explains. “In a tent. Few days away from Hopeland.”
Vash shifts, getting a little more comfortable. He hums curiously.
“Hopeland? Why?”
Nick pauses, hand running over Vash’s back when he feels him shiver again.
“The only place I could think to take you. Sorry.”
Another curious hum and he feels Vash’s fingers curl in his shirt.
“It’s fine. Always wanted to visit.” Vash mumbles and despite it being small and sleepy he sounds more like himself.
“That so?”
“Mhm.” He hides a yawn in Nick’s shirt. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
“You didn’t,” he lies smoothly. “I was already awake.”
Truth be told it was better to be ripped out of his own nightmares by Vash’s distress and focus on comforting him than to face his own demons.
He didn’t remember the specifics anyway, the sleep images quickly fading from his mind as it continued to wake up more.
Though he didn’t need to. The last five months weighted heavily on his mind and his conscience — that was no surprise.
“Can’t sleep?” Vash mumbled and Wolfwood fixed the blanket slipping over his naked shoulder.
“Yeah.”
Vash shifted, sliding more on top of him than before. They touched everywhere now, from their shoulders all the way to their calves where their legs tangled together.
“You too?” Vash breathed the question into Nick’s neck.
“Yes.”
“About?”
Nick wet his lips and swallowed a few times before he answered.
“Just…something from when I was a kid. It returns to me sometimes. Don’t worry about it.”
He was a coward for refusing to acknowledge the elephant in the room but the other option was to spill his guts to Vash and beg him for forgiveness.
This wasn’t the place nor the time, he couldn’t do it to him, put it on his shoulders when he was still shivering from exhaustion and heartbreak. Force him to once again put others over himself. Show his compassion and love for humanity that continued to disappoint him time and time again.
I dreamed of you being tortured and me just watching. I couldn’t do anything until it was time but it was way too long. I wanted to come and get you. I keep seeing your body being twisted and mended over and over again. I still hear the sound of bones breaking.
He didn’t need to forgive him for anything anyway; it was a miracle that he let Nick touch him like that in the first place.
“Okay,” Vash answered after a long silence, filled with his soft breaths. He could see through Nick’s bullshit even like this but he was kind enough to accept his white lies and flimsy comfort.
“You’re shaking,” he changed the subject, gathering Vash close to him, offering as much body heat as he could muster.
“Mm.”
“Cold?” Nick didn’t remember Vash ever getting this cold and shivery, even during the night.
“I don’t know,” Vash breathes but the way he burrows deeper spells it out for him.
“Sorry I didn’t grab your coat.”
“It’s fine.” Vash hides a yawn in Nick’s collarbone. “You’re warm.”
No, it’s not. It’s important to you.
“I’m so sorry Spikey.”
Vash is quiet, his soft snores breathing warm air into the hollow of Nick’s throat.
In a flash of selfishness, he tips his head lower. His dry mouth brushes against a sweaty forehead.
It’s not a kiss, he doesn’t dare to actually do it, not now at least. But it’s…something.
Vash hums softly in his sleep and it almost feels like he’s bumping his head against Nick’s face, asking for more.
Nick forces himself not to and lets his head fall back onto the tarp.
“Sleep,” he murmurs softly. He won’t get any himself but that’s okay. Vash needs it more than him. He will keep watch. He will listen in case something or someone tries to sneak up on them.
This time he really will protect him.
Vash’s hand curls in his shirt again and a small, pained whimper escapes his lips.
God, he hates Knives.
Long, slow rubs over his back seem to help, sooth any distress before it can turn into another night terror.
Vash doesn’t sleep well, but he doesn’t wake. He twitches and whines through the whole night, clearly still plagued by nightmares and visions of his brother and recent atrocities done to his body.
Finally, just before dawn, Vash settles and breathes a small sigh of relief. Nick hates to wake him but he needs to.
They need to run.
When bloodshot eyes open and blink at him Nick has only one thought in his head.
If Vash won’t kill him he will.
Or he will die trying.