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Being awoken in the night by a crash isn’t unusual to Wolfwood; hadn’t been in his days in the orphanage when bellies went hungry and fingers turned sticky in the deceptively unprotected kitchens, hadn’t been in the god forsaken jail cell where one prisoner turned failed experiment was so far gone it would bang it’s head against the wall everyday to get rid of the pain till Conrad ordered it shot out of it’s misery, certainly hadn’t wandering the desert taking contract kills for slippery shitty fuckers who tried to shoot him dead, and he’d been embroiled in nothing but chaos since meeting The Stampede, the first damn crash being that goddamn truck against his body. Still, it’d been a while since someone had pulled an attack on their hotel in the night, so he was raring to go, grabbing the Punisher with a snarling grin as he ran to Needle Noggin’s room. “Ready to meet God, fuckers?” He asked, jumping the corner quickly with The Punisher raised as both his shield and weapon. Instead of the goons he was expecting though, he saw Vash trying to gently tug his prosthetic out of a hole in the wall, wincing at the plaster and wood splinters coming out with it. “What the fuck, Needle-Noggin?”Everytime he thinks he’s seen all the strangeness this man has to offer, something proves him wrong. “Ah, Wolfwood! Um, nothing to see here really.” Vash rubs the back of his head, the usual gesture made strange by the way his other arm hangs straight. He raises an eyebrow. “Picked a fight with the wall?”“Aha, more like something about it picked a fight with me-““What happened? I heard a cra- Vash?” The little lady stepped around him into the room, hands on her hips. “What happened here?”“Well, I’ll probably have to spend some of tonight repairing this-““Nightmare, or saw some type of specter?” Roberto lit up behind him; Wolfwood was tempted to mimic the man, needing some nicotine to process the oddity in front of him, but the old man had wisened to his pinching tricks and started keeping them away from Wolfwood’s quicker dominant hand. “…not exactly.” Vash looked away, cheeks a bit red. “Just a really big-““Spider!” Meryl shrieked when a large black dot started crawling out of the hole to freedom, and it was a big and ugly enough fucker for even him to be startled. Emphasis on the was; in the next second, Vash had drawn his prosthetic out of the hole and created a new one, taking out the spider and predictably half their funds for an inn the next few weeks. “Our hero.” Roberto drawled sarcastically as Meryl wavered between relief and irritated concern, while Vash avoided eye contact with them all, still smiling that pathetic little smile. “Didn’t realize the big bad Stampede would be so scared of spiders.” Wolfwood pulls out a light, ignoring Meryl’s glare. He has more important targets to tease. “Yeah, well, everyone has something they’re scared of, you know.” Vash pulled his arm out of the wall less gently this time, recognizing it as a lost cause. “Those guys kinda freak me out.”“And hordes of bad guys don’t?” “At least then I can try to negotiate with them; spiders like to get a little too close for my comfort, heh.” Wolfwood lets his eyes drop down to the spot on the floor that’s been moving in his peripheral vision. “I can see that.”“Please don’t mention it.” Vash’s metallic fingers clinked and clenched together, audible over Meryl’s shrieking. “I don’t want to put a hole through the floor and I will if I see it.”“… “ Wolfwood took a drag of the cigarette, watching it crawl closer to Vash’s foot as Roberto tried to get Meryl to uncling from behind him. “Need a hand-“
Bang.
Vash drew and sheathed all in one smooth motion, as the former moving dot became a small, still smoking hole. He would’ve thought it was him that shot, except Roberto’s right arm is still up, gun smoking as Meryl peers over his shoulder.“I don’t particularly like the damn things either, Stampede.”He sheaths it, batting Meryl’s hands away from his shoulders like one does a kitten. “‘Sides, those fuckers are venemous. Gotta call the innkeeper and say we’re takin’ a refund.”“Venemous?” Meryl shrieks. “Vash, did you get bit?”“I’m alright, they’re not the type that kills you, just makes you feel a bit sick.”Wolfwood notes that he doesn’t answer the question directly, and he knows Roberto does too, by the sigh the man lets out.“Let’s get the fuck outta ‘ere.” Wolfwood turns, carrying his cross with disappointed fingers. “Undertaker.” He doesn’t turn around, but he does stop, acknowledging Roberto’s address. He doubts he’ll like what he’s about to say. “Take our resident puppy with you, codger downstairs is going to be tough enough to convince for a refund, let alone another room.” He pauses, taking a drag of his cig. “Let alone with the holes in the wall now.”“Tch.” There’s a lot of ways this sleepover could go wrong, but Wolfwood is too tired to outline them all, let alone censor the half that he can say to those nosy-ass reporters. “C’mon Blondie, no spiders on my floor.”“Aha, thanks Wolfwood.” “Could we just get out of here before any more spiders decide to join us?” Meryl is the voice of reason for once in their slow circus, and she’s the reason Wolfwood turns around to grab Blondie’s sleeve to tug him back with him. He fully regrets it though when he gets shoved on his ass, seconds later. “What the hell-“ “Don’t. Move.” Vash has his gun pointed at him, and he looks to the right and so does Roberto, and Meryl’s face drawn pale beside him.‘Shit, did I blow my cover?’Then he notices something moving in his peripheral, atop his suit’s shoulder.‘Aw, fuck.’ The Lord sought judgment upon him for judging spider-fearing people as pussies too damn soon.
Bang.
“It’s gone.” Vash’s relief is almost comedic, considering he’s not the one that had a gun pointed at him a minute ago but Wolfwood has long thought that man far past that hill in sanity. Rubbing his forehead, Roberto sighs. “Forget room sharing, we’re getting a refund and sleeping in the truck, we’re burning ammo and moonlight at this rate.” “I can agree with that.” Vash already has his stuff in hand and Meryl’s down the corridor to grab hers, leaving Wolfwood still feeling the top of his suit shoulder for any holes. ‘Nothin’ more than a stray thread.’As expected from The Stampede. (Wolfwood didn’t sleep well that night, some nightmare of gun touting spiders with multiple blue eyes that sprouted fucking wings haunting him till dawn. He called it an extension of the Lord’s judgment, crossing himself with his middle finger raised.)
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Vash, are your eyes green or blue?” Meryl poses the question over dinner, a bowl of worm guts soup that she’s been firmly avoiding the worm parts of, and Wolfwood beside her ready to pounce, favorite teasing subject locked in on like a cat to a mouse. It makes Vash smile, picturing the two of them like so, Meryl the mouse biting the cat’s toes, so he tries to hide in the next mouthful of soup. They would take offense at that, though sometimes he doesn’t understand why; humans are animals, if a separate class of. They exist off years of evolution and genetic drift. He can’t imagine existing with that kind of ancestral framework, of existing to exist, without the expectation of production or reproduction put upon your species. (It’s what he likes and envies most about humans.)“Hmm, what do you mean? My glasses?” Vash plays dumb, he knows exactly what she’s referring to but he wants to hear Meryl try to explain it, it’s not often people get close enough to notice his eyes. It’s the glasses, he thinks. (And the bounty, but Vash tries not to think of that.) “No, your eyes… they’re blue sometimes and then they look kind of green at others, like when a sand storm comes in they look more blue but then today they look kind of green, and the glasses don’t help!”She makes a motion to take them off, that Vash dodged, scooting to the side, still smiling. “It gets a bit bright without them.” He explains without explaining, but Meryl accepts the non-answer with a huff, sitting in her spot and looking nauseous over worm meat again. He’s about to take pity on her and take some from her bowl when Roberto interjects, sounding tired. “Newbie, you just let part of the story get away. Whether The Humanoid Typhoon’s eyes are blue or green would be a tabloid hit, if you spin it right. Stir up the bounty hunters plenty.”Vash grimaces a little at that. “Ugh, please don’t. A few years back, someone tried to impersonate me, and they…” he rubbed his hand along the back of his neck, “…weren’t a suitable fit. After that, wanted posters became more accurate-well, mostly.”Wolfwood snorts. “Ya talking about the poster where you look like a seven foot spiked up demon from hell? Cause let me tell ya Spikey, that ain’t far from my personal hell.” “Oof.” He pretends to be hurt from Wolfwood’s bluntness, but honestly it’s relieving the man hadn’t jumped on the strange turn the conversation had taken. Vash had no doubt since the first time he’d met Meryl that she’d stop at very little to sate her curiosity. “Anyways, Blondie’s eyes look blue most of the time, you should get your eyes checked Shorty.” He takes it back. Next time, Vash is going to hide some of his cigarettes in random places in the car and watch the man nearly tear it apart looking for them, and hide the last one in his coat. “No way! You’re the one wearing sunglasses all the time, for all I know you’re seeing all of as freaking sepia pictures!” “Sep-a-who now? All I know is even if I needed glasses, they certainly wouldn’t correct your height.”“You-!”“Blue or green?” Roberto nudged him with his foot. “Balls in your court now, Stampede.” “Ah, haha.” The two stop arguing, paying attention to his answer. “Well, blue and yellow actually.”“Hah? Didn’t mean your glasses too, needle noggin’.”“I didn’t mean the glasses.” Carefully, Vash slides off his glasses, tucking them into the interior pocket of his jacket. The world is brighter without them, and he has to fight not squinting, but it helps looking at where the shadows on their bodies lie. “It’s called central heterochromia; around the pupil and in the iris there’s a ring of yellow, then blue that meets past it. Some people used to call it sunflower eyes, when it was more common.” Rem taught him that a long time ago, him and Nai both, when they’d compare in the mirror for similarities and differences- Nai’s eyes were pure green, but Vash’s seemed to shift colors. Back then, he’d wanted to have brown eyes, to match with Rem. Now, he simply takes the memory and cherishes it, of when he felt like he could be a sunflower, reaching to the sky. (Vash is far too earthbound now.) “Can I see?” Meryl stands up, more mindful about coming closer now that his glasses were off.It was funny how such thin glass could create such a barrier, and how laughably easy they were to remove, yet he kept them on at all times. That was the punchline. “Mmhm, it’s easier in this kind of light anyways.” The pupil contracts in bright light, and in artificial his plant markings sometimes caught the light; he thinks it has to do with light wavelengths and energy, but the bio-engineers on Home couldn’t get him to sit through the tests long enough to confirm. Vash tilted his head back and Meryl leaned into his space, wisps of something floral clinging to her amidst the smell of sand. He knows she sees it when she lets out a little gasp, grabbing his jaw to tilt his head further and at different angles. “Wow… that’s beautiful, Vash.” A slight flush builds at his ears, and he wills it to go no farther than that. “Ahaha, thanks, it’s really not that special, just hereditary genetic mutation.” At least he thinks it’s hereditary; in humans, it appeared to be so, as opposed to plants. None of his sisters share it, only him alone. (Another thing Nai would hate, another difference they share.)“Must be somethin’ special then, by the way Shorty’s ogling you.”Meryl immediately stepped back then, turning to glare at Wolfwood while completely forgetting the grip she had on Vash’s face. He let her pull him with her, letting out an obligatory yelp when it looked like she was about to take off her boot and throw it at Wolfwood’s head- Vash didn’t think she’d get it back if she did. “Umm, Meryl, I think a photo would last longer at this point.” He’s joking; the less he’s in photos, the better, though sometimes he can’t resist when the sentimentality hits hard. (Somehow he always loses them. It’s not surprising.)That causes her to let go, hands flying to her own face. “Ah, sorry!” “It’s okay!” He smiles, eyes crinkled up, and tries to ignore the sun’s brightness stinging his eyes. He only has a few more minutes before he needs to pop on his glasses. “Oi, Needle Noggin’, c’mere.” Wolfwood waves him over, leaned up against the punisher. Vash hums in acknowledgment, taking a few paces closer.As soon as he’s in range, Wolfwood grabs onto his jacket and yanks him down till he’s eye level. With both their sunglasses tipped down for the first time, they’re eye to eye, brown to yellow-blue. “Huh.” Wolfwood breathes smoke into his face and Vash has to fight the urge to cough, wrinkling his nose instead. “I’ll give it to you Shorty, you were half right this time about the color, and damn right about them being pretty.” This time Vash can’t help the flush spreading up his face. It’s the second time two very attractive people have called him attractive in some type of way, and that doesn’t happen often in Vash’s meandering of a life. “Oh-okay then,” he scrambles back, putting some distance as he pops his glasses into place, “that’s enough of that-““Stampede.” Roberto cuts him off. When he looks over at him, the older man cocks a brow at him. “Peaked my curiosity, puppy.” If he whimpers a little in the back of his throat, it’s lost in Wolfwood’s laughter. “Damn Blondie, think you could get rid of the next set of bounty hunters by battin’ your eyes a lil’ at them? It certainly got to Drunkle!”Vash isn’t taking his sunglasses off ever again after this; here in, they’re blue and the green is a trick of the light. (“Hey Vash.” Nai poked at him in the night, sneaking into his room even though he’s not supposed to, and waking him up, even though, once again, he’s not supposed to. Vash feels justifiably grumpy for this, turning on his side to ignore his twin, only to squeak and flail when the ticklish part of his side gets poked this time. Turning again, he glares sleepily. “What, Nai?” “Let me see your eyes in the light for a moment.” In response, Vash shoves a pillow over his face and curls up under the blankets, protecting his ticklish sides. ‘Beat that, Nai.’ And then his brother sits on him, yanking the pillow away and shining a flashlight in his face. “Ugh, go away.” Vash groans and yawns mostly for show. He’s fully awake now, and feeling grumpy about it. “Why do you want to do this anyways? Aren’t you worried about getting into trouble with Rem?” “Hold still,” Nai presses his face down with one hand on his forehead, messing up his bangs. “I want to check something.”So Vash does as his brother asks, holding still with barely withheld impatience. Nai makes an approving hum a minute later, clicking off the flashlight. “You have it too.”Vash blinks in the sudden darkness. “Have what?” Nai clicks the flashlight back on, under his face. It sends all the shadows of his features into strange contortions, in opposition to the flat expression on his face. Positioning it to the right of his face, Nai points to his eyes. “Look.”And then Vash sees it. Leaning in close, his breath hitches: “Your markings…”“I noticed it earlier in the lab, when you moved closer to the hologram screen, that something flashed. I checked it on myself and just now you- our markings respond to artificial light, but I can’t tell what kind yet. Just that they do.”Nai clicks the light off again. “Also, the yellow ring around your pupil is more apparent under light. They really do look like the sunflowers you like so much.”Vash doesn’t have the heart to tell him he likes them for the way the seeds taste, salty and crunchy, for how pleased he looks with himself. “Huh. Cool.” He lays back down, trying to close his eyes and fall asleep again. Then Nai starts shining the light into his closed eyes. “Don’t you want to commit more experiments to see how the markings react to different lights?”Vash sighs into his pillow. “Let’s do it.” They get scolded by Rem for staying up all night and wasting energy, but the results are worth it. Later, the memory is too.)
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
It’s an all white space, somewhere in between life and the higher dimension, that Vash meets a spectre.Nicholas D. Wolfwood, with one blue eye and a stripe of blond struck through his hair, stares at him with wide eyes. He’s taller than his Wolfwood, and his suit fits better, with a white high collared shirt like he’d seen in old movies.He’s also walking straight at Vash, long legs devouring the space between them. Vash doesn’t step back, even as the man is foot to foot with him and looming over him.“Spikey?”Vash rubbed the back of his neck. “Not the one you know, no.” Under his breath, he mutters “And why do you have to always call me that?”A hand lands on his head, ruffling through the strands. Vash doesn’t quite flinch, but he doesn’t stay still either, and the hand stops, just resting on his head.“You’re shorter than him, and you’re not as Spikey, but you still react like he does.”Vash gives him a flat look. “You’re just as blunt as mine.”(His body is better too, but he omits that part. Every Wolfwood he’s ever met had been cocky about it, till he learned to keep his eyes up. )(Even if their open collars made it hard too.)Wolfwood raises an eyebrow. “Yours?” His voice is grumbly, low, and mercilessly teasing, and it distracts him enough to not process his words till a little too long later.Vash flushes, looking away. “There’s a lot of ' yous’, and a lot of 'mes', and it’s kinda hard to differentiate sometimes. The Wolfwood from my,” he emphasizes, but it doesn’t dim the smirk creeping up Wolfwood’s face. “World, he’s… younger looking, more rough around the edges still.”“Lookin’ for a mature man then?” Wolfwood leans down, staring in his eyes like his namesake. Vash leans back, till he’s bent over, held up only by the strength of his core, Wolfwood’s arm hovering under his waist radiating body heat.“Um, not really looking for anything, other than why the higher dimension has brought us here?”“That what this place’s called? Thought this shit was heaven, seemed lil’ bare of angels ‘cept for you.”He laughs nervously, tilting further back, which turns out to be a mistake, perfectly landing in the cradle of Wolfwood’s arm.There’s a beat of silence, and then.“Wow, your waist is just as tiny as his.”Vash almost whimpered, and just caught it in his throat, when-Wolfwood’s lips curved up slowly.“Ah, ‘pologies. Meant mine.”No one could have blamed him for the noise that came out of his throat then.(His sisters may have recorded it forever in their memories but if he pretended they didn’t then it never really happened. After all, this space wasn’t like the reality he was part of. Here, dead or alive, everyone was corporeal, for the better or worse.)When Vash wakes up, Wolfwood immediately shoves him off his shoulder from where he’d been napping, and Meryl teases him about the dopey smile on his face, but none of them expect the scream Vash lets out into his hands, leaking through his prosthetic to the detriment of his companions.“What the fuck Blondie?”“You nearly made me crash!”“You always almost crash, Shorty- I’m living proof.”“Alright back there, Stampede?”Vash nodded, whining high in his throat at a pitch human ears could only barely pick up. “Just a weird dream.”Wolfwood loops an arm over his shoulder, leaning in close. “Aww, our lil’ Needle Noggin’ is growing up?”Pressed against Wolfwood’s side, Vash could only mutter, “You have no idea how much growing you have to do.”It earned him a headlock, but it was worth it, even with Meryl and Wolfwood yelling at each other right in his ears.Back home in Hopeland, Wolfwood strides down an overly familiar hallway, in the way that a path gets worn into floorboards and the cracks in walls are traceable with blind eyes and reaching fingers.He stops in front of a frame at the end of the hall, next to a window with the view of an ever blossoming apple tree.“Been a while, Spikes.” He puts his hands together in a halfhearted prayer. “Dunno if you’d know about this, but somehow I took a nap an’ meet your double, some punk with the same stubbornness as you. Looked like you but different, somehow younger yet I’d bet he was just as old as you, when we first met. Big blue eyes, them wide shoulders, beauty mark, all the things of you but in some type of modern coat, really tricked out.”He snorts. “You’d like it; looked practical, and almost as long as the duster you got.”Placing a hand on the glass over the folded long red coat, Wolfwood traced the seams with his fingertip.“Blushed just like you. Made me want to take him away for a minute, far from what this fucked up world got in store for him, but that ain’t my job no more.”Wolfwood laughs bitterly.“Wasn’t ever in the first place, yet you still took yourself out saving my dumbass.”“Nico!” A harried voice called from the front of the orphanage, paired with frenetic laughter and screams. “Need some help here!”“Gimme a minute, Livio, I’m talkin’ to Blondie!”“Hurry, before the rascals knock me over!”Wolfwood snorted again, this time with mirth. “Like he ain’t built like s brick wall. Still let’s them bully him a bit, like he hasn’t been around them for years…” he lets his words fade to silence. “Wish you were too Blondie.” He whispered to the frame, before walking down the hallway, yelling for his charges to take off their shoes inside and get ready for lunch.Outside, the apple tree lets its fruit ripen, green apples contrasting with the far glossier red of the smaller tree beside it.To the residents, both are equally sweet, though they don’t know why Mr. Wolfwood sometimes puts flowers and whiskey by the green apple tree, though the younger ones think it makes the fruit sweeter.The eldest ones keep their mouths shut, letting the name of a mourned outlaw die peacefully on their tongues.(There’s a story, a funny unfunny sort of thing that you laugh as you cry because there is no other way to cry when you think of it, behind the framed coat, that if you catch a Nicholas D. Wolfwood in a good mood with some gourmet food, a bottle of fine liquor, and a pack of cigarettes, he might humor you to tell.It goes like this:Ten years past, when Vash had passed, passed on and left the last of his powers to a dying man, Wolfwood set on a vengeance, grief so harsh it was like a veil, like the tail of the red coat he kept tucked up alongside the Punisher. Keeping it there only made the look of confusion, anger, and bare grief on Knives face when Wolfwood shot him dead with Vash’s own gun so much better, in the way that he could console himself that justice had been served.After returning to the girls, victorious yet defeated, Wolfwood went back to December, got himself a job in the orphanage, and tried not to drink himself to death.He met Livio a year later, wandering after Chapel died, and suddenly the ledge was a little further away. Still, he saw blond spikes turn black and crumble into white feathers, scattered by the desert wind, and felt the weight of the gun holstered at his side like it would drag him straight to Hell for being the man to kill an Angel.“So one day,” he’ll slur, too many cups in, “I decided to try on ‘is coat, that big ol’ red thing he almost never went wit’out, and I tried it, an’- ha,” He broke into deep guffaws, sounding more like sobs than laughter, but you want him to finish the story, don’t you?“So, I put it on, rollin’ it up my shoulders like it wasn’t boutta squeeze the circulation out of me, and then I tried buttoning it, from bottom to top, like a damn fool.” He closes his eyes, mimicking the motions of doing the buttons. “Well, I got halfway up, then at the top, I had to hold ma breath, an’ it worked, got ’em all up, ‘cept, soon as I breathe -lookin’ mighty ridiculous mind you, don’ know how he wore that thing like he did-'' He mutters, interrupting himself. “So all the buttons all up top popped, flyin’ cross the room, and I had a devil of a time tryin’ find ‘em and sew ‘em back on.”He grimaced, taking another swig. “Then I pulled it off, and found I’d ripped the shoulders at the back, and that was the devil, had to enlist Milly in repairs on that one, bless her for it.”He pours out another shot, then tips it onto the roots of the apple tree. “Sorry if it ain’t your taste, Spikey. Been tryin’ some new stuff lately, Livio said if I’m gon’ get this drunk wit’ ya, I may as well bring the good shit.”They keep talking, but you take yourself out of the scene; some stories don’t need to be told, just given the breath to breathe.A certain outlaw certainly could tell you so.)
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Here’s the thing:
Meryl gets nightmares sometimes. She does, Roberto does, everyone does. It’s human nature, and no matter how Wolfwood tries to wave off concerned inquiries over the dark circles under his eyes and snap his (way too sharp to be human) teeth, he’s subject to them too, in the form of clouds of cigarette smokes surrounding him for hours in the early morning when they set off and too harsh grunts and commentary.
She gets it, like how Roberto will rub at his sternum when he wakes too quietly from a nap in the front seat, like his eyes had never closed except for the haunted look in them and the way it took a minute for him to place where he was and why Meryl was calling for his attention.
Meryl doesn’t know if her tells are as obvious as there’s, aside from a perpetual chill and an aversion to too sharp objects (no knives, no silver glints or cold eyes looking down from on high.)
She definitely knows Vash’s tells are.
He flinches, especially when someone goes near his prosthetic, and the stupidly pretty smile he has looks strained, like he’s holding them by one thread, and everytime Meryl asks if he’s okay the thread strains a little more.
So she stops asking, just drives a little slower so he can nap a little easier, she takes Wolfwood’s teasing attention off Vash by bickering with him instead, and she lets Roberto do whatever easing he usually does, in his calming presence.
This time, it’s bad.
Vash looks like he hasn’t slept in days, eyes shiny and red tinged, bags visible even under the rims of his glasses, and even when she drives the truck at its most gentle setting, ignoring Wolfwood’s grumbling at their pace, Vash is still awake, staring out the window with an unreadable look.
It scares her a little, the fathomless blue she catches behind his lenses sometimes, but Meryl steels herself anyways, having come so far, and on the third night of this, tells Vash to sit next to her at the campfire.
Halfway on his way to sit on top of the wheel of the truck, he blinks at her, head tilting. It reminds her of a Thomas, especially as his hair flops to the side in a wavy floof. She bites back her snicker, patting the sand next to her invitingly, while Wolfwood has no such restraints and snorts into his fist.
“C’mon, it’s probably comfier than the tire.”
Vash’s head tilts more, and Wolfwood starts cackling.
“Do you mind?” Meryl snaps, glaring at him.
“No, not all, it’s entertaining seeing you play act tamer to an overgrown humanoid Thomas.”
“Th-!” Throwing sand at Wolfwood like a child may cost her dignity, but it’s well worth it as the undertaker curses, swiping furiously through his loose shirt; she’d aimed there on purpose, as the biggest and most annoying target.
While he was distracted with that, she turned back to Vash, surprised to see a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. It wasn’t like his usual smiles though, something melancholy about it, but it was a smile nonetheless so she’d take it as a sign of victory.
He folded himself on the sand next to her like a cat, graceful feet and long body lithe as liquid.
“So,” He raised his eyebrows, glasses reflecting the firelight. “What would you like to talk about?”
At that, Meryl inhaled softly. “Well…” Her fingers itched, and she flexed them, trying to curb the nervous energy. “You haven’t been sleeping well recently, right?”
“I wouldn’t necessarily say it’s bad, but yeah.” Vash scratched the back of his neck, trying to laugh it off, but there was a tension in his frame that told Meryl to frame her next words carefully.
“I have a solution to that.” She announced, staring at him head on. Meryl had to sound confident saying it, even if she didn’t feel confident saying it. “It does involve me touching you though, if you’re okay with that.” She added softly. Vash usually didn't initiate touch, but he hadn’t really shied away from it either, but it wasn’t like they’d had much opportunity to be close like before.
Roberto would’ve told her to leave it, but as both her feature front page piece and her friend, Meryl wanted to at least try to help him.
(And maybe some of her nightmares featured Vash in them, as her mind conjured images of what if it hadn’t been Millions Knives but him causing such destruction, or what if he had turned on Roberto and her, or if the Humanoid Typhoon… wasn’t all that humanoid.
In daylight she’d dismiss them as ridiculous, seeing Vash’s bed-head in her rearview mirror, but there was always a sense of guilt for them.)
Vash bit his lip, before releasing it quickly. “Are you sure?” He said it in the serious voice she rarely heard, something he usually reserved for a drawn gun and the last chance at pacifism.
Swallowing, Meryl nodded. “Could you lay your head in my lap?”
Vash’s eyebrows raised, but he scooted a little further, stretching his lanky body across the sand as he laid his head sideways on her lap. “... You might want the glasses off for this.”
“...Could I keep them on please?”
Meryl nodded again, then flushed, realizing he couldn’t see her.
“Yeah, sure.” She said, flustered. “I’m- I’m just going to put my hands through your hair? Is that okay?”
“...”
“...”
“Sure.” She barely heard him, but acquiescence was acquiescence, and Meryl wanted to at least do what she could do for the Humanoid Typhoon to be at rest.
Combing at his temples first, Meryl cooed over the softness of his baby hairs, repeating the motion three more times before shifting to circle the middle of his scalp.
Scratching down from there to the back of his neck, she froze when Vash sighed softly, breath warm against her thigh.
“Ah… Sorry!” He tried to bolt upright, but Meryl kept her hand against the side of his head, gently pressing him into place.
“It’s okay, the point of this was to get you to relax in the first place, don’t undo all my work just now like that.” She scolded lightly. Vash tensed a little more, then forcibly untensed his muscles, taking her far too literally.
Sighing, Meryl scratched at the shorter hairs behind his ears, making him eek out a small chirping sound.
Wolfwood whistled. “Damn Spikey, sure you aren’t part Thomas? Sounded just like one then.”
Feeling Vash shift uncomfortably, Meryl glared at Wolfwood. “At least he can actually ride one, unlike a certain undertaker who looks more like a drunkard than an actual drunkard when he tries.”
Scowling, Wolfwood stubbed his cigarette out in the sand. “Try carrying a cross full of mercy at the same time, see how sober you look.”
“So you admit it.”
“Admit that your sleuthing skills leave some to be desired? Thought we already covered that, Shorty.”
“You-! Vash, stay down, I’m not done with you yet!”
“Now that sounds more like a threat than not, little lady. Trying to relax him or rile him up?”
Before Meryl could articulately say “it’s your fault!” Without sounding like a child, Vash shifted again, forcing her to let him up.
“Thanks Meryl, that was pretty relaxing, I think I’ll sleep pretty well tonight.” He gave a closed eye smile, standing up like he was ready to run.
And all she could do was let him walk away, elbowing Wolfwood in the stomach when Vash was out of hearing range.
“This is your fault.”
It sounds less childish and more petulant now, but she gets her point across as Wolfwood clutches at his side, lying down to clutch at his abdomen.
“Why do you always go for the recently healed bits.” He mutters, more to himself than her but it makes Meryl’s stomach twinge in guilt. It changes into sharp annoyance when Wolfwood turns to easily lay on his back arms crossed behind his head. “Just kidding. Like a short stack like you could hurt a damn worm spawn.”
“That’s enough out of the makeshift undertaker that has a cross more full of bullets than mercy.” She stood up, marching her way to the car. “Good night, and don’t wake up the rest of us if you get eaten by a worm.”
The next opportunity comes three nights later; it’s not because Vash comes to her, or her persistence pays off (He’d taken to snoring extra loud atop the van when she started to approach, and continued to do so even when Wolfwood kicked it and told him to shut up.) Instead, it comes on an absolutely freezing night in No Man’s Land, where her breath condenses in front of her, Roberto rubs at his hip with ten more winces than usual, and even Wolfwood is shivering a little.
Vash reveals nothing, per usual, but worries over them even as Wolfwood snaps at him, and Roberto waves him off.
Meryl, in between shivers, eyes his jacket longingly. During the day it looks unspeakably hot, but now she’s wishing she had one like it, instead of her cropped one. The next time Vash catches her eying it, he smiles a little, and opens the jacket up on one side. “Want to share?”
Meryl had never leapt around the edge of the campfire so fast, the warmth of Vash’s body preserved within the fabric, and curling closer to the source, she felt the shivers start to ease.
And then she opens her eyes and sees Roberto and Wolfwood both staring at her and realizes what she's done.
Normally, this is where she’d start apologizing, while simultaneously arguing with Wolfwood as he started teasing her.
Normally.
Right now, Meryl is too cold to care except to curl up closer into Vash’s warm side, content to stay there the rest of the night.
“Damn Blondie, you got any more room in there? Think that’s the first time Shorty’s teeth have stopped chattering.”
Meryl nearly snaps back reflexively, but Vash pulls her in a little tighter with his arm, and opens the other side of his coat. “There’s room still.”
Wolfwood’s cigarette drops from his mouth, and he swears, trying to catch it while Roberto laughs his wheezing laugh at him. “Stampede got you good there, Undertaker. Best take him up on that offer, like I can’t see the goosebumps on your ankles.”
Cursing still, Wolfwood gets up, stomping away from Roberto sit next to Vash, grabbing the end of his coat to wrap around himself.
“Happy, Gramps?” He growled.
Roberto snorted.
“Delighted. Newbie, I’m taking your bed roll- you’re sharing with the Humanoid Heater tonight if you want to keep your toes. Undertaker, I don’t care what you do but if your bed roll is empty long enough I’m taking it.”
Wolfwood gave a low grunt of acknowledgement, curling just as much as she had under the warmth Vash gave off, insulated by his coat.
And once again, this is normally where Meryl would protest, trying to maintain professionalism and not be seen as the newbie Roberto always called her, but she’s too warm and drowsy to fight.
Besides, she did mean to get closer to Vash.
Maybe not like this, but she’ll take it.