“Don’t get involved Spikey,” Wolfwood voices to his right.
Vash is looking across the bar at a trio of drunkards who are fighting each other—or more like shoving each from how drunk and uncoordinated they are. Vash must be expressing a certain look that tipped Wolfwood off into thinking Vash was going to stop the men. He wasn’t even thinking about stopping them but he may have been one thought away from it.
Vash pouts as he looks down at his drink, likely some cheap alcohol. “I won’t.”
“You had a funny look in your eyes,” Wolfwood scolds with a finger between Vash’s eyes that makes him go cross-eyed. Wolfwood leans back into his seat and takes a swing of his drink. Vash takes a sip of his and cringes at the taste.
They quietly finish their drinks in the corner of the bar while patrons drink and eat around them. The drunk trio has calmed down from shoving to arguing loudly in the middle of the bar. Vash hears Wolfwood grumble about the men being annoying and stands up getting ready to leave, grabbing the Punisher. Vash chugs his drink down—wincing while thinking he should’ve ordered something else—and stands up as well. They walk past the men and make their way out into the afternoon sun.
The town they’re staying in is pretty lively; people flocking about and children playing. Both men were only passing through to stock up on some supplies, only staying for a night. Their first stop is getting ammo which brings them to a more deserted area of the town. As they round a corner they hear a child wailing.
“Give it back!”
A rugged man is standing over a small girl, holding up a paper bag out of her reach as the girl jumps to grab it.
“Sorry kid, but me and my pals are hungry. Just go and get more.” The man moves away
The girl latches onto him and keeps wailing. “No! Mommy needs the food!”
“Kid, I said get lost!” He shoves the girl off him and she falls to the ground. She starts sobbing.
Vash curls his hands into fists looking at the exchange. He takes a step forward and is stopped with a hand on his shoulder. He whips his head towards Wolfwood, scowling.
“If you stop me I swear—.”
“I was gonna ask if you needed any help.” Wolfwood grins at him, in the process of lighting a cigarette.
Vash sighs. “I’m just gonna stop him, not turn him into a punching bad.”
Vash walks over to the pair, behind the man. Being almost a head taller, he easily takes the bag out of the man’s hands and holds it up higher. The man lets out a surprised noise and turns around to face him.
“Didn’t anybody tell you to pick someone your own size?” Vash chides.
The man scowls at him. “Hey man, mind your own damn business!”
Now closer, Vash can see he is drunk from the way he is swaying slightly. The man lunges up towards him to get the bag but Vash swiftly moves out of the way, leaving the man stumbling and almost falling on his face. He turns to face Vash again but he stops suddenly, looking at something behind Vash. The man's face turns scared and conflicted for a couple of seconds, debating whether to try and get the bag back or leave. He decides on the latter.
The man grumbles, “I’ll get you for this.” And leaves with his tail between his legs.
Lowering the bag, Vash is confused by the retreat and looks over his shoulder seeing Wolfwood still smoking, looking off to the side in innocence. Vash squints at him.
“Did you do something?”
Wolfwood casually shrugs. “Just gave him a look, that’s all,” he drawls.
Huffing, Vash turns to the child who is looking at him with big teary eyes. He walks over to her and crouches down to her height.
“Here you go,” he says softly, presenting the bag to her.
The girl timidly looks at the bag and then at him. She slowly takes the bag, clutching it to her chest. Her eyes water some more.
“Thank you, mister,” she murmurs.
Vash smiles warmly at her and pats her head. “Get home safely and quickly.”
She nods and turns to leave. Vash stands and smiles at her retreating back. A hand ruffles his hair.
Wolfwood snuffs out his cigarette on the ground. “You good?”
Vash looks at him with the same smile. “Yeah, let's go.”
Two hours pass while they grab a bite to eat and get all the materials they need for the next two weeks of travel. With nonperishable food and bullets on hand, they head back to their hotel. Fewer town folks are walking about during the late evening sun. Vash hums while snacking on some donuts; both men walk in comfortable silence.
Soon after finishing his donuts, Vash feels a chill run down his spine and not the good kind. He looks behind him and he sees a shadow move in an alleyway.
Vash bristles. “We’re being watched.”
Bounty hunters.
Wolfwood immediately tenses, gripping the belt that holding the Punisher. “Where?” he hisses.
“Behind, I don’t know how many,” Vash whispers.
They both keep strolling forward. At least there’re barely any people around, Vash thinks. Though, they are going to get jumped any second now. After a couple of steps, they hear multiple pairs of footsteps running across the sand and guns clicking.
“There he is boys, get him!” Is all the warning they get before bullets rain down on them. Townspeople scream in the distance at the noise of gunshots.
Wolfwood immediately shoves Vash behind him, tossing their bag of supplies to god knows where, and props up the Punisher to act as a shield for both of them. Bullets pelt the gun.
Vash takes a glimpse over Wolfwood’s shoulder to see how many bounty hunters they are dealing with. To his surprise, he only sees five. This’ll be quick. Vash also sees the same man he confronted earlier. He internally rolls his eyes. So this is a petty ambush.
Vash quickly takes stock of the men’s positioning and readies his gun. One of the guys has a machine gun—that’ll be his first target—while the rest of them have amateur pistols. Vash fires two rapid bullets at the machine gun and it bursts apart in the man's hands who cries out in surprise. The burst of gun parts damages his hand and he groans in pain. Vash fires his four remaining bullets at the pistols to disarm the rest of the group; two bullets end up landing in the hands of the gunmen. Groans and yelps are heard.
Having no more bullets flying at them, Wolfwood moves forward to stop one of the gunmen from picking up their gun, kicking both the gun and the man away. Vash and Wolfwood are left standing while the gunmen cower in fear.
Wolfwood plants the Punisher upright on the sand and wipes his brow. "Well, that was underwhelming. Barely a warm-up."
Vash snorts at his remark and walks over to the man he encountered earlier today, who is slowly standing up and hunching over. The man glares when Vash stops in front of him.
“Did you tattletale on me?” Vash fakes a pout.
The man sneers at him. “You should be put down like the dog you are for sticking your nose in other people’s business, Vash the Stampede.”
Ouch. Vash frowns. “That’s not very nice.”
The man moves as soon as Vash finishes speaking, readying a gun that was kept hidden. Vash instinctively slaps the gun out of the man’s hand with his prosthetic arm. The gun goes flying. Vash glances at the discarded gun as the man growls in frustration.
Vash puts his hands on his hips turning back. “Hasn’t anyone told you that playing with guns is dangerous—.”
Vash cuts himself off. He sees something glint at the bottom corner of his eyes. This time, a concealed dagger is revealed in the man’s left hand and he moves forward. Vash thinks, maybe he should’ve placated the man earlier or done something else to avoid this poor excuse of a skirmish, as he’s caught off guard. He feels the cold metal of a dagger thrust into his abdomen.
Who brings a knife to a gunfight?
Vash inhales sharply and tenses from the burst of pain, staggering backwards while the dagger is pulled out. The man goes for another stab but is stopped by a hand on his wrist.
“You fucking bastard,” Wolfwood snarls.
Wolfwood twists the wrist harshly, causing the man to yelp and drop the dagger. Wolfwood kicks it away and then kicks the man squarely in the chest, pushing him a couple of feet away and making him fall to the ground hard.
Vash wheezes heavily in shock at what just happened and presses a hand into his wound to stem the bleeding.
“Haha! I got him!” the man cheers as if he won, from where he’s crumpled on the sand.
Vash is confused for a moment. He’s survived worse injuries, having evidence all over his body.
Wolfwood walks over to the man and yanks him up by the collar of his shirt. The man’s smirk is quickly replaced with fear in the face of Wolfwood's fury.
“The fuck do you mean you’ve ‘got him’,” he spits.
The man stutters, “That dagger had enough poison to kill a giant worm.”
Vash stutters out an exhale—fear crawling up his veins or maybe it was the toxin. He hasn’t dealt with poison before. If this man is right about it being that potent he needs to leave now.
Wolfwood is furious; lifting the man off the ground by his collar. He is about to chew out the man but is cut off by Vash.
“Wolfwood!” Vash anxiously calls out. Wolfwood turns to look at him. “We need to go.” Before any sort of law enforcement in the town comes running.
I need to be somewhere safe.
Wolfwood grits his teeth, letting go of the man who drops to the ground with a yelp, barely keeping his anger at bay as he grabs the Punisher.
“If I see any of you bastards again I’ll blast you!” he yells out. The four men quietly groan from their injuries as they scramble up to quickly get away from Wolfwood’s fury. After they disperse, Wolfwood moves quickly to Vash’s side.
“How’re you feeling?” he asks, brushing a hand across Vash’s back.
Vash feels alright at the moment, more shaken at the fact that he got poisoned rather than the actual stab wound. He scolds himself for being too careless.
“I’m okay,” Vash grimaces, “but I don’t know what to expect later.”
Wolfwood nods, he picks up their bag of supplies that was tossed some ways to the side when they got ambushed.
“Let’s get going then.”
While they walk back to their hotel, Vash is aware that the toxins in his body are slowing him down. Just walking is making him winded. It isn’t until they are near the hotel that Vash starts to feel woozy; he’s also starting to sweat. Wolfwood senses this—moving the bag of supplies to his other hand that is carrying the Punisher—and places an arm around his waist to support him. Vash wraps his arm around Wolfwood’s shoulders.
“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” says Wolfwood.
Vash tries to keep his anxiety down. “I’ve never dealt with poison. I don’t think I'm immune to it.”
“You’ll get through it,” Wolfwood reassures him as if it’s a fact. "You'll be okay."
Vash hopes so.
They both arrive at the inn. Luckily no one is around except for the receptionist who pays them no mind, and they make their way towards their shared room. Wolfwood grabs the room keys from one of his pockets and unlocks the room door. The door behind him is kicked closed and he sets down the Punisher and the bag beside the door.
Vash is openly panting while Wolfwood carries him to sit down on the edge of the bed. Wolfwood takes off his suit jacket, places it on the back of a chair and rolls up the sleeves of his white shirt. He takes off both his and Vash’s sunglasses, leaving them on the room’s table, and begins to unfasten Vash's long, red coat. Once unbuttoned, Wolfwood pulls the coat off of Vash’s shoulders and helps remove his arms from the sleeves. A moment passes as Wolfwood looks at Vash’s black shirt underneath, soaked with blood. Instead of taking it off normally, Wolfwood rips it to avoid the hassle of taking it off and tosses the crumpled shirt off to the side. Vash briefly mourns his ripped shirt and looks down at his injury.
The stab wound is blistering red and the blood is slowly seeping out. It’s no more than two inches wide. There is also a greenish tint around the edges that can be assumed as the poison. The poison must be fraying his nerves; the wound hurts like hell and he usually has a high pain tolerance. Vash looks away as he feels nauseous and dizzy. Wolfwood notices this from where he is crouching in front of him, already equipped with bandages, a damp cloth, and stitches.
“Gonna get you cleaned up and then you can lie down and rest,” Wolfwood informs him. Vash nods in response, giving him permission to start.
Wolfwood raises the damp cloth to the wound and wipes away the blood and the residue of the poison. Vash grimaces, hissing in pain from the fabric brushing across the inflamed area. Once cleaned, Wolfwood puts down the cloth and grabs the needle and thread. This next part isn’t going to be fun.
Wolfwood moves closer and looks up at Vash with concern. He notices that Vash is growing fatigued. “Hold onto my shoulders.”
Vash takes a second to register the words and moves both his hands to grip Wolfwood’s shoulders for leverage.
Wolfwood looks back at the wound, readying the needle and thread. “Are you ready?”
“Yeah,” Vash rasps, trying to sit still.
Vash almost chokes when he feels the needle go through his skin; hands squeezing Wolfwood’s shoulders that’ll leave bruises later. Wolfwood doesn’t react to the vicelike-grip and continues. Vash is trying so hard to keep still, squirming periodically.
“Breathe. Slowly,” Wolfwood tells him.
Vash strains to even out his breathing as Wolfwood stitches up the wound. By the time Wolfwood finishes, Vash is heaving, eyes closed and barely having the energy to stay upright. Vash lessens his hold while Wolfwood reaches up to grab his face with both of his hands.
“How are you holding up?” Wolfwood asks, looking across Vash’s face.
Vash slowly opens his eyes and blinks at him. “Like hell,” he mumbles.
Wolfwood sweeps his thumbs across his cheeks. “Okay, I’m just gonna wrap you up and then you can sleep.”
Wolfwood pulls away for a second to get the bandages and wraps up Vash’s torso and the wound. Finishing tying up the bandages, he stands up and Vash’s hands fall from his shoulders. Vash leans forward to rest his head against Wolfwood’s stomach; Wolfwood pets his hair, soothing him.
“Let’s get you to bed,” says Wolfwood. Vash hums lethargically in response.
Wolfwood supports Vash’s back as he lays him down to lie against the pillows. He takes off Vash’s boots and socks and replaces his pants with pajama bottoms. Wolfwood walks toward the left side of the bed to gently take off the prosthetic arm, pulling off the latches and twisting it out of its socket.
Vash slumps his head to the side and strains to look at Wolfwood as the bed sheet underneath him is pulled out to cover his body—tucking him in. His body is slowly pulling him into unconsciousness and he closes his eyes. A hand brushes his fringe away from his forehead and Vash trills at the gesture.
“Go to sleep, I’ll be here,” Wolfwood murmurs to him.
Before falling asleep, Vash hopes his Plant biology can work its magic and withstand the poison. To his dismay, Vash wakes up two hours later to his body boiling and learning that he is, in fact, not immune to the poison. At all.
Wishful thinking.
The first thing he feels is his body is on fire from the fever he developed. The next thing he feels is his head throbbing painfully and he lets out a moan as he reaches to clutch his forehead. His wound feels like a gaping hole even though it’s patched up and his stomach is rolling dangerously. Vash tries to breathe steadily to relax himself but it’s fruitless against the pain; he just ends up panting heavily. He feels his mouth uncomfortably produce too much saliva.
Vash is delirious from the pain he’s in and his skin is crawling uncomfortably.
It takes great effort to sit up, swing his legs over the side of the bed, and keep himself upright with one arm. Vash raises his hand to massage his aching head but something glowing catches his eyes and his vision focuses on it. Plant markings. And also small ebony feathers running along his arm.
Oh, he doesn’t like that. He shudders violently as his breathing picks up.
The markings are likely reacting to his body fighting the poison within himself but it reminds him about his less-than-human nature. He now knows why his skin is prickling along with the amount of heat his body is radiating.
The spike in anxiety causes his stomach to churn horribly and he tastes bile at the back of his throat—he starts coughing and gagging. Vash notices a trash can on the floor a foot away from him while he fights back the motions of his stomach trying to empty itself. He collapses to the floor and crawls towards it to retch bile and blood into it. He lets out a groan as he finishes—still in pain and heaving from nausea. He can’t think straight; he needs to get out of here.
He needs to be somewhere no one can find him.
Vash strains to lift his body weight to stand and walk towards the bathroom. His body badly needs to cool down. He leans against the doorway, wheezing as he takes a breather, and moves in front of the sink. Something in the mirror grabs his attention and he looks up. His eyes widen in alarm.
As Vash looks into the mirror, he sees an amalgamation of Plant features. A wing is coming out of his back, below his left shoulder—he doesn’t know when that happened—visible sharp canines from the way he is panting openly, luminescent Plant markings, and plumage running along the side of his face and shoulders.
Vash stumbles away from his reflection, back hitting the wall.
He wants to get out of here, somewhere far away from the town. A whine escapes him as he reaches behind him; his sole arm grabbing the sole wing. He goes to pull on his feathers but stops when he hears a sound to his left—he immediately unfolds and sharpens his wing towards the direction the noise came from, ready to defend himself. Whatever is on his left lets out a curse and Vash looks.
Wolfwood is standing in the bathroom doorway with a shocked expression and hands raised, showing he means no harm. The tip of the wing is an inch away from his neck.
“Well, you look like you’re having a great time,” Wolfwood supplies sarcastically. He glances down at the wing in front of him. “Of course you wake up the one time I leave the room.”
Vash grimaces. He works his throat to make his voice not come out as a growl. “Leave.” Don’t look at me.
Wolfwood still has his hands raised. “Y’know I can’t do that. We’ve agreed to be more open with each other and talk it out.”
Vash didn’t agree with him looking like this. “Not this. Leave and ask for another room.”
But Wolfwood has no intentions of leaving. He brings a hand to touch the primaries of the wing. Vash lets out a frustrated noise and pulls his wing back against himself. He has little strength to push back against Wolfwood’s stubbornness and he’s shaking from the exertion of standing up.
Wolfwood takes a step forward. “You need to go back to bed.”
Vash takes a step back—there is little room to move when the bathtub is two steps behind him. Erratic breaths come out of him, almost hyperventilating, and his vision is blurring. The fever is making him feel like he’s melting. He wants to be alone in this mess.
“Please leave,” he begs.
Wolfwood falters for a second but is quickly replaced with determination and moves forward with his unassuming stance.
“It’s going to be okay.”
Vash’s eyes begin to water and he moves back but his heel touches the bathtub. He can’t fight back anymore—the sickness and Wolfwood. His legs buckle and he collapses. Two arms reach out to grab him before his knees hit the ground. Vash claws his hand on Wolfwood’s shoulder for leverage, unsure whether he wants to push him away or pull him closer; Vash doesn’t have enough energy to do either. He hears Wolfwood swear.
“Christ, you’re being cooked alive!”
Vash rests his head on Wolfwood’s shoulder and moans in response. The fever is unbearable and he can barely keep himself conscious. He’s shaking and sweating against Wolfwood’s hold. Wolfwood grabs Vash’s face and moves his head to face him. Vash’s vision swims with exhaustion and tears as Wolfwood looks at him. He doesn’t want Wolfwood to look at him—with all his feathers and Plant markings—and he lets out a sob as tears stream his face. Too weak to move away or hide.
Wolfwood just coos at him. “You’re gonna be okay.” Vash is too delirious to speak, whining instead.
Vash doesn’t react when Wolfwood lifts him bridal style and gently puts him down in the bathtub. Wolfwood moves to the other side of the tub to turn on the faucet—turning the knob all the way to the cold side. The shower head gushes out water onto Vash and he gasps at the cold sensation hitting his overheated body. He flails against the cold, trying to get out but an arm across his sternum holds him down. Out of instinct, Vash lets out a growl that sounds more like a sob and bites the arm pushing it down in a feeble attempt to get it off him. His fangs barely draw any blood.
A voice whispers reassurances to him.
Vash eventually stops struggling and relents his bite, resigning himself to the cold water as it fills the tub. The arm moves away now that he isn’t struggling against it. Vash lies listlessly and quietly sheds tears. A hand strokes his hair and Vash weakly moves towards it to seek comfort from all the uncomfortable sensations he’s feeling—the cold water, the bodily ache, the fever, and being seen.
“It’s okay, you can go to sleep,” a familiar voice tells him and Vash passes out.
Vash comes to awareness sometime later when his body doesn’t feel like it’s scorching and the water isn’t freezing, having warmed up to room temperature. His head is fuzzy but it’s not pounding in pain anymore. Vash feels a hand combing through his hair and he pushes into it like he did earlier—this time appreciating the comfort. He hears a chuckle as a head touches his cheek.
“Are you with me?” Wolfwood asks.
Vash trills in response.
“Okay, let’s get you out.”
Wolfwood moves away to drain the bathtub. Vash whines at the loss. Wolfwood comes back and lifts Vash to have him sit on the edge of the tub. He grabs a towel sitting on top of the toilet lid and gently wipes Vash's face clean of sweat and dried tears. He then dries Vash’s hair and upper body, carefully over the scars. Vash groggily hums throughout the process with eyes closed. Wolfwood crouches down and removes Vash’s wet pants and briefs in one go to dry his legs. Once dried, he is clothed with another pair of clean briefs and pants.
Wolfwood carefully strips away the wet bandages around Vash’s torso that are stained pink from the blood and tosses them into the nearby trash. He takes a look at the wound—the stitches are pulled slightly but still intact and the wound is starting to heal. Satisfied with what he sees, Wolfwood places fresh gauze and bandages on the wound.
Once done, Wolfwood pats Vash’s head. “You’re all done.”
Vash leans forward to smother his face into Wolfwood’s stomach and grabs the back of his fresh black T-shirt—his wing also wraps around Wolfwood to pull him closer, acting as his left arm.
“Sorry,” Vash mumbles into Wolfwood’s shirt.
Wolfwood huffs a small laugh as he brushes Vash’s hair back with his hands. “You’re supposed to say ‘thank you’.”
Vash is suddenly choked up with emotion, overwhelmingly filled with gratitude but also with shame from his behaviour towards Wolfwood earlier.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
Wolfwood bends down to lift Vash with an arm supporting the back of his thighs and another supporting his back. Vash wraps his legs and arm around Wolfwood. He hides his face into Wolfwood’s shoulder. Wolfwood carries him back to the bedroom as his sluggish body barely holds on. He is placed down to sit on the edge of the bed. Wolfwood begins to move away but is stopped by Vash clinging to him.
Wolfwood pats his back. “Oi, don’t strain yourself, you need to rest.”
Vash shakes his head into Wolfwood’s shoulder. “Lie down with me,” he pleads.
“Okay, okay, just let go for a second.”
Vash relents his hold around Wolfwood’s waist and his legs are moved to lie properly on the bed. Wolfwood lies down next to him and he pulls the bed sheets over both of their bodies. Vash is still hiding his face, now in Wolfwood’s neck.
“Hey, look at me,” Wolfwood mutters.
Vash rubs his forehead into his neck, shaking his head. Wolfwood brings his hands up to hold both of Vash’s cheeks and pulls him away from his neck to look at him. Vash curls into himself as he’s being stared at, retreating his arm and wing around Wolfwood. He knows the feathers and Plant markings are still visible.
"Angel, look at me."
Vash opens his eyes and looks down, eyes landing on Wolfwood’s collarbone and avoiding eye contact. Tears begin to gather in his eyes.
“I’m sorry for freaking out,” Vash murmurs. And for getting hurt.
“Nothing to be sorry about,” Wolfwood drawls. Wolfwood leans forward to rest his lips on Vash’s forehead. “And you don’t have to hide from me.”
Vash lets out a sob at that and he lurches forward to wrap his arm and wing back around Wolfwood, embracing him. He nuzzles his face into Wolfwood’s temple as he sheds tears. Vash full-body purrs up against Wolfwood; feeling a blanket of comfort wash over him. He is safe here.
Thankyouthankyouthankyou.
Wolfwood laughs at Vash tickling the side of his face and wraps his arms around him, pulling Vash close. Vash soon calms down, trilling softly as he grows sleepy with exhaustion. Fingers massage his nape and lips brush his forehead.
“Sweet dreams.”
Vash falls asleep peacefully with a smile.
When he wakes up in the morning, he is greeted with the sun shining down on Wolfwood’s sleeping face.