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Nicholas find’s Meryl just over an hour after the last round has been fired, and then Roberto safely burrowed away in some tavern on the outskirts of town (surrounded by battle weary men who actually fought) some hours after the wilting sun finally retreats over the horizon to lick its wounds.
The barmaid offers them dinner and rooms free of charge, a solemn yet sincere thank you on her lips and unshed tears brimming in her tired eyes as she claims it’s the least she can do for them. To Nicholas, the shootout was hardly the glowing victory this woman's tears would have him believe it to be - the bandits didn’t get what they came for sure, but the town has been reduced to little more than a pile of rubble and rusted steel, lives were lost-
Less, he would say, Less then what would have been lost if we didn't help, Wolfwood.
But he doesn’t say anything, because he’s not there.
They all know the person who most deserves her thanks is not present, but they say nothing.
Nicholas’s hands ball into fists underneath the table as he forces a stiff nod, acknowledging her thanks - but being careful to not accept them. Nicholas merely brushes his eyes over its existence, like a familiar ghost dragging her icy fingers across his aching shoulders.
If it were up to me. Nicholas thinks. At the very first whiff of trouble this eyesore of a town would have been nothing but a blimp in the desert behind me, and I never would have thought about it again. And he almost believes it, almost.
Meryl looks at him, the way she seems to always turn to Vash whenever she finds herself directionless, and it makes Nicholas want to cave her skull in with something blunt, heavy and unforgiving. Instead, Nicholas barely touches his food in favor of staring blankly at the door - his fingers drumming against the wooden table as if he could simply will the hero of the evening to walk in, smiling and grimy yet miraculously unharmed as per usual.
“Should….Should we look for him? It’s been hours-” Meryl forces out.
Nicholas swallows, his head aches from counting the seconds.
“Christ newbie, you know what he’s like” Roberto groans.
“He could be-”
Nicholas’s jaw clenches.
“He’s fine, that kid is unkillable….He’s probably knee deep in orphans or rubble or god knows what else, inserting himself in someone else's misfortune like his damn life depends on it” Roberto’s words are lifeless, much like the man’s eyes.
You never can walk away can you, Vash?
Meryl drops her eyes to the surface of the table, tossing a glance at Nicholas’s drumming fingers before she thinks better of herself and resumes picking at her food with a weighted sigh.
“Yeah….Yeah you’re probably right, of course” Meryl breathes out, clearly trying to will herself to believe the words tumbling haphazardly from her lips.
Roberto lights a cigarette, and for once Meryl says nothing in protest.
Worry - unspoken and almost blasphemous, hastily buried under false declarations of ease - lies over them like a thick fog, so dense it threatens to choke them all. A silent killer who works with dizzying ease, a death which wasn’t as swift or boastful as the one a bullet could have delivered any one of them barely a few hours ago.
If Nicholas were given a choice, he’d pick the bullet every damn time.
“You agree, right Wolfwood?” Meryl says barely above a whisper.
Nicholas stands so quickly that his chair nearly topples over behind him - making a piercingly loud screeching noise as it’s rammed across the aging wooden floorboards - and makes for the tavern's stairs with fire roaring between his cracked ribs.
_____
The tavern seems to be the only building in town which had dodged at least partial destruction, so they all silently agree to hold out there and wait for Vash to crawl out of whatever self-righteous hole he’s buried himself in this time and find them.
A day passes.
Then two.
Meryl keeps up her new habit of looking to Nicholas as if he somehow has all the answers, and Nicholas demonstrates an uncharacteristic level of patience by not tearing her to shreds for daring to look at him in such a ridiculous way.
By the time the sun sets on the third day, it seems like every surviving resident has passed through the tavern at some point. Destruction is a fast spreading virus, one which is only hastened by so much lingering death - and so the tavern is forced to evolve. In two short days it’s become a temporary nursing station, storage facility and shelter for the displaced. Nicholas can hardly believe how many survivors there seems to be, and drives himself half mad wondering how many of them were only alive because of Vash. Meryl speaks to every single survivor, rushing around with such speed that her feet barely touch the ground, scribbling on her notepad in such a practiced way that she may as well have her profession written on her forehead. The hope which blooms on her expression each time she hears the door open is enough to make Nicholas feel sick. Hours trickle by, mocking them, and not one person seems to recall seeing Vash since the heat of the skirmish. The no man’s land which is the eye of a self-made storm, where a body was just a body and you have no choice but to step over it and pretend you hadn’t seen their face at all. Perhaps even pretend it wasn’t human at all, if you had too in order to keep moving.
Scrub it from your memory like blood under your fingernails.
Even if they did see Vash, he could have been just another corpse buried half under rubble, or with a whole round unloaded into his chest.
The mental image is so vivid the first time that it forms behind the blackness of Nicholas’s closed eyes that he ends up on the floor of the inn's cramped bathroom, throwing up what food he had managed to stomach.
On the evening of the third day, one of the surviving townsfolk asks if they’d like him to check the temporary morgue they have set up, and Nicholas swears he would have hit him with enough might to send the man to the morgue himself and relished in doing so if Roberto hadn’t thrown his arm across his heaving chest just in time.
After that, it’s essentially impossible to stop thinking about Vash’s corpse.
Nicholas loses his appetite all together.
“Maybe….Maybe they just didn’t see him! That doesn’t mean he’s not out there” Meryl chokes out in the late evening hours of the third day festering in the aftermath.
Nicholas knows she doesn’t believe it, after all Vash the Stampede is quite hard to miss.
On the fourth day, Meryl convinces a handful of the remaining few uninjured men to help them with a search. They start in the places which reek most of death, the buildings at the west side of town where the fighting had certainly been the most violent. The search begins at dawn, and by lunchtime Nicholas’s fingers are black from pulling and shoving at rubble and forcing his way through half-collapsed doorways, and his heart aches from praying he wouldn’t find a flash of red beneath the debris.
Nicholas can picture him in his head so clearly it was as if the man was standing before him, and every time he rounds a corner in some half-buried family home or store he aches to see him - sitting against a wall, covered in dust and blossoming with relief when he sets his eyes on Nicholas.
“There you are” he’d say “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming”
It was simple, it was all so simple - Vash must be injured and unable to move, immobile and hungry and probably still smiling, waiting patiently to be rescued behind the very next corner that Nicholas was going to round.
Nicholas tells himself that over and over, from sunup to sun down.
This is it, he’s in here-
But in the end, the fourth day rushes past them like a summer wind - offering little relief, leaving them shivering as sweat dries on their skin and weighs down their weary souls.
They find nothing, less than nothing.
Nicholas thought he knew hell, thought he knew what it looked and felt like, how the bitter air lingered in the back of his throat; but he was wrong - as he no doubt stood in its doorway for the very first time that day, like a man returning to his childhood home. It was familiar and comforting in some ways, yet changed and almost cruely warped in countless others.
Nicholas has no idea what he feels, and despite his most desperate efforts the word mourning sneaks up on him like an old friend, it knows all his tricks and his evasive tactics and easily outwits him. It mutters in his ear and robs him of sleep.
He doesn’t know Vash is dead, not for sure. But something certainly dies somewhere in the gray haze between the fifth and sixth day without him. And so Nicholas mourns it - he mourns the hope of truly believing Vash was somehow alive, lurking somewhere just out of view.
He mourns hope, and braces for death to follow.
____
It takes nine days before they silently decide to go their separate ways.
After all without Vash, what reason did the three of them have to stick together?
They don’t say goodbye, hell they don’t even speak about it, they simply look at each other in the inky darkness of the eighth night with a silent understanding written in their nearly identical expressions of complete exhaustion. There is not one word spoken, which Nicholas is nothing but grateful for.
He wakes up to a note under his door, a simple pair of short sentences written so concisely and neatly that Nicholas knows for sure that it’s Meryl's handwriting.
I’m sorry, Wolfwood.
We did everything we could, all of us.
Nicholas sees a third line of text, smaller, which has been meticulously scribbled over in an effort to conceal what had been written. Nicholas holds the torn piece of paper closer to his face, and finds he can just make out the words which had been written-
Live, Nicholas, he wouldn’t want us to rot in the past.
Vash the Stampede dies right there and then, in Nicholas’s trembling hands. He doesn’t call for help, he doesn’t cry or shout or scream. One moment he’s there, and the next he simply isn’t.
But Nicholas is a fool, and so he still hopes.
_____
Nicholas doesn’t settle for the next two days, the barmaid supplies him a map which details nearby towns and settlements - and Nicholas blows through them like a hurricane.
He trades a packet of cigarettes to a half-deaf old man who runs a printing factory in the first town, and in exchange the stranger prints a stack of “missing” posters with weary eyes and wrinkled hands.
Nicholas separates the posters into even piles, one for each of the towns he plans to descend on, and gets to work.
The people in the first town were palatable enough but entirely unhelpful - Nicholas goes to four factories and two taverns, a handful of boarding houses and even a few of the nicer inns. No one claims to have seen anyone matching Vash’s description, and still Nicholas insists on leaving a poster in their front windows or bathroom doors or notice boards. Vash’s printed form lingers amongst job ads and wanted posters, and everyone looks at the crossbearer with sad eyes, as if Nicholas were some tortured romantic searching for a man he had seen only in a dream but was sure really exists, a ghost.
Nicholas refuses to dwell in their pity, and moves onto the next town only a day and a half later, after searching every common place with scientific precision - twice.
He arrives at the next town by daybreak, carried through the night by a rented motorcycle that he admittedly has no intention of returning - “Old habits die hard, huh? C’mon, do the right thing!” He would say, smiling as he snatched the keys from Nicholas to return the bike. The town is barely a town at all, more like a dwelling; with only a handful of central buildings surrounded by an outer ring of sagging single-story homes, all perfectly identical and weathered beyond repair from being relentlessly hammered by the elements.
The whole place is dusted with a thick sense of destitution, like most towns not fortunate enough to have a plant were.
As expected, the occupants of such a corner of barely habitable hell aren’t exactly eager to speak to an outsider. But places like this always seem to attract Vash - he was nothing if not a fool who willingly stuck his nose where it didn’t belong, desperate to help those who anyone with a functioning brain would deem beyond helping upon first glance, within a second.
But Vash was a walking talking lost cause himself, and birds of a feather do indeed flock together.
Nicholas feels hope whisper in his ear.
But in the end it takes Nicholas barely half a day to sweep the town top to toe, tacking his missing persons posters to alleyway walls and structural beams and hoping they manage to survive a few hours before begrudging locals tear them down. Nicholas feels eyes burning into his back with every step he takes through town, cold eyes and heaving breaths urging him to flee this place.
Nicholas doesn’t find Vash, nor does he find any trace of him having ever been anywhere near this dwelling, and he’s almost relieved.
Nicholas puts the place in his rear view mirrors by nightfall.
____
The next two days pass in a similar fashion - the desert blurs in the corners of Nicholas' tired eyes, and he steadfastly ignores the way his bones ache with exhaustion.
He spends exactly twenty-four fruitless hours in the next town, and by the time he rolls into the fourth town - they’re expecting him.
“Oh! You’re that guy, aren’t you?” One of the waitresses at the town's largest inn says the moment Nicholas trudges through the doorway. “You’re looking for the blonde boy in the red coat, right? You’ve been town-hopping all week”.
Safe to say, no one in town has seen Vash, of course Nicholas doesn’t believe any one of them, so he searches the place himself - unsurprisingly, he finds nothing.
He has become so used to finding nothing that it hardly disappoints him anymore. Vash himself was quickly turning into nothing, as if he never even existed in the first place.
Nicholas decides that the next town is the last one that very evening, with his head resting on a rock-hard pillow and preparing for yet another sleepless night.
One more town, he thinks, and he believes it. One more, then I'm letting him go.
____
The ride to the next nearest town is a relatively short distance from the last, and Nicholas can’t help but sag with relief when he parks his stolen motorcycle down a nameless alley and basks in the shade of a nearby building. The dessert is cruel and unforgiving, and Nicholas has certainly become familiar with at least flirting with heatstroke over the last week.
After all, clear drinking water was a luxury - one he could certainly not afford.
Nicholas throws a tarp he’d somehow procured over the bike - covering it entirely as well as the Punisher, and steps out of the alleyway and back into the main road which carved down the center of the nameless town - overall the place was thrumming with life, so much so that it makes Nicholas’s nose screw up as he spots kids running back and forth between shops, factory workers on breaks and varying other textbook indicators that this was indeed a very normal town, filled to the brim with a sense of ease and safety which is extremely rare in these parts.
Normal didn’t really suit him, if anything normalcy made Nicholas uneasy, even a little suspicious.
The few missing persons posters he has left remain tucked into the sidecar of the motorcycle, as Nicholas can’t bear to lug them around a second longer.
He’s dead, a bitter voice spits in his ear, one that Nicholas easily identifies as his own. He is a corpse, a ghost, why does it matter?
Nicholas turns back around and snatches a single poster out of the sidecar, crumples it, and promptly shoves it deep into his pocket like some filthy secret.
Nicholas takes off walking at a steady pace, careful to drop his chin and at least attempt to not draw any unwanted attention to himself as he scans the surrounding shop windows and streets through his dark lashes - his tired eyes still aching to catch a flash of cherry red, or a dot of shocking blonde hair amongst the sea of gray and brown which so often came with industrialism. Nicholas walks aimlessly, wandering deeper and deeper into the center of town until he reaches what is clearly the epicenter of the place - a circular intersection with larger establishments surrounding its core. Nicholas spots the tavern, and makes for it with haste.
Much easier to get a drunk to talk than a policeman, after all.
The doors swing open with ease, the rusted hinges creaking as Nicholas strides inside. The place is larger than most small town taverns, and seems to be brimming with life as people flock around the bar and crowd around high-top tables that scatter the ground floor - desperate to escape the unforgiving heat of midday. Nicholas lifts his hand to wipe a bead of sweat off of his brow, and swallows his all-consuming desire to bury Vash the Stampede for good and flee from this place as he turns and walks towards the main bar. The barmaid appears young and sprightly at first glance, wearing a blinding smile and a pressed white apron; but her weariness shows in her eyes as they flicker over to meet Nicholas’s own, separated by the tinted glass of his sunglasses.
Like Vash. Nicholas thinks to himself, unable to stop himself from doing so. All you have to do is look hard enough and you’ll see the decay.
“Hello there, can’t say I’ve seen you around before, forgive me if I’ve forgotten you” she greets him, already moving to grab a glass as Nicholas leans against the bar.
“You haven’t, I’m just passing through” Nicholas grits out, his voice hoarse from having been only scantily used over the last week.
“You don’t look like a simple traveler to me”
“No?” Nicholas scoffs.
“No sir, far from it” she sighs, her voice almost melodic.
“What gave me away?” Nicholas drawls out.
“Those eyes of yours”
Nicholas feel’s his heart sink to the pit of his stomach.
Vash and his private smile, his floppy hair and his reckless and deluded willingness to trust a total stranger.
“Just look at his eyes”
Nicholas shakes his head to clear away the lingering haze of the unpleasant memory, and the barmaid looks at him with an eerily similar half-smile.
“So what is it then? You’re clearly here for a purpose”
Nicholas fixes her with a glare “None of your damn business ”
“Maybe you should watch your tone before you offend someone who could very well help you” she sighs, pressing her palms into the chipped surface of the bar as she raises one of her brows at Nicholas.
“You can’t help me….Trust me” he mutters back, his voice thick with a despair he refuses to name.
“Do me a favor and sleep on it?”
“Do I look like I can afford a night in your lovely establishment?” Nicholas scoffs, his tone wicked and sharp.
“On the house, I insist” she says, placing a glass of crystal clear water in front of him.
They have a plant, huh? Explains the chipper attitude-
Nicholas laughs, a low sound that rumbles in his chest as he allows his head to flop forward with another long sigh. “Forgive me for not placing my wager on the kindness of strangers, can’t say it’s ever gotten me far”
“I’ll have someone show you up, gimme a second-“ she speaks over him, and Nicholas can only roll his eyes as he groans.
He lifts his head then, turning to eye the man who sits beside him at the bar.
A copper glint immediately catches his eye - a small crest sewn into the side of his hat.
One Nicholas immediately recalls.
“Hey, where’d you get that hat?” Nicholas asks, his words tumbling from his mouth before he fully even realizes he’s going to speak at all.
The man frowns at him “S’Mine, asshole”
“That crest isn’t from here, it’s from-“
“My hometown, which no longer stands”
Nicholas swallows, hard.
“How….How’d you get here?”
The man scoffs, turning away from Nicholas.
Nicholas has never made it a habit to accept no for an answer.
He lurches forwards, grabbing the man’s collar with a trembling fist and forces him to turn and face him again.
The barmaid yells as the man’s glass slips from his hand and falls to the floor - shattering with a crash , Nicholas ignores her.
“Answer me, now!” Nicholas spits in his face
“God damnit! What the hell is your-“
“I will not ask you a third fuckin’ time”
“I’m a refugee! There’s a whole bunch of us….After the east factories collapsed there was no safe way back through town so we headed into the desert to find help, this is the only town who’d take us in-“
Survivors, more survivors.
Nicholas releases a shattered breath, one which he had been holding onto like a child with a treasured toy for two weeks-
“I’m looking for someone. He’s…..He’s tall, with blonde hair and a prosthetic arm and-“
“Wolfwood?”
The voice slams into the back of Nicholas’s head with such force he genuinely believes for a second that he’d been struck with something heavy and blunt. His own name reverberates around his skull for a moment, echoing as Nicholas slowly releases the wide eyed refuge, and turns around - chasing that voice, chasing him.
Vash the Stampede stands in the middle of the tavern floor in his red coat, his wild hair and his cerulean blue eyes - eyes which have haunted Nicholas every waking nightmare for two weeks. Eyes he thought he would never see again.
The boy Nicholas buried, the boy he mourned, now stands before him very much alive, not a scratch on him.
And he is looking at Nicholas with nothing but confusion, his head tilted and jaw slack.
“Well well, fate sure does work in strange ways!” He says, a puff of laughter as he offers Nicholas a casual smile.
Nicholas sees red.
He…..He’s been here, all this time, perfectly fine-
Nicholas takes a staggering step forwards, then another.
He didn’t….Look for us, he just moved on, just like that-
Vash has no idea of the monster that now wades towards him, after all - he probably fully believes Nicholas is incapable of hurting him. He is wrong.
Nicholas has no idea just how much he wants to hurt Vash, how much he wants to force him to feel even a fragment of the pain that had been haunting Nicholas for the last two weeks, until he raises his fist and swings at him with every inch of might that he can muster.
He didn’t care, he didn’t care if we were alive or not.
Vash’s eyes blow wide, and he lurches backwards just fast enough to dodge Nicholas’s fist.
Nicholas does not hesitate before swinging again, a guttural sound tearing from his lips as he launches towards the blondes retreating form. Nicholas can hear people behind them gasping and furiously backing away, not wanting to find themselves caught in the firing line. Nicholas knows he must look like some rabid animal, a lover scorned, but he doesn’t care.
Vash ducks again, continuing to stumble backwards with his arms reaching behind him - trying to avoid the maze of recently abandoned tables and chairs as he retreats.
His eyes never once leave Nicholas’s, and he can’t help but sneer as he tosses a chair aside and continues stalking towards the blonde.
You should have stayed dead, you fool.
“Wolfwood, what’s going on? What-“
Nicholas swings again, his hand balled into a tight fist as he unleashes another killing blow.
Something flickers in Vash’s eyes for a moment, and a strange calmness quickly overcomes his thin features.
Nicholas realizes only a moment before his fist collides with Vash’s high cheekbone, that the blonde clearly has no intentions of dodging him this time.
He simply stands there, and lets Nicholas soak him in his fury.
Vash goes down hard, and the sickening crack of Nicholas' knuckles slamming into his cheek is so deafening that Nicholas prays it’s the last thing he’ll ever hear. He takes a deep breath, almost a wheeze as his now aching hand falls to rest at his side, and then another - desperate to blink away the red tinge which still lingers in his eyes. People around them whisper and murmur, and Nicholas hears Vash groan as the blonde attempts to prop himself up on one elbow where he’s strewn across the undoubtedly filthy tavern floor.
He just stood there…..He didn’t even attempt to move-
Nicholas hears someone shuffle towards them, and when he turns swiftly on his heel to face Vash and his supposed rescuer - Vash identifies the danger long before the foolish tavern guest is perceptive enough too. The man is barely a man at all, his cheek smeared with grease and an empty bottle clutched in his trembling hand.
Nicholas laughs, cold and lifeless.
This man has one foot in his own grave, would you like to join him?
“Don’t, please-“ Vash chokes out.
For a moment Nicholas assumes the blonde’s words of warning are directed at the tavern guest, but when he looks to the floor and finds his eyes - he finds Vash looking up at him with pure distress swimming in his blue eyes. Nicholas can’t help but notice that he’d managed to knock the blonde's ridiculous glasses off of his face, giving him an uninterrupted view of his pained expression.
And the angry splotch of red and purple which now paints his right cheek, and the fresh blood slipping from his nose, his gifts.
You know what, you’re right. Nicholas thinks to himself as he swings one boot over Vash’s waist - straddling his narrow hips before dropping down to his knees with a loud thud. You deserve to die alone.
Nicholas leans forwards - and with one hand he grasps a handful of red material, yanking Vash’s torso off of the floor and drawing it to him. Nicholas hopes he can smell the poison which he exhales as he fists his other hand in Vash’s hair, forcing his head back as Nicholas’s knees slide against the tavern floor, pressing against Vash’s jutting hip bones as he pins him down.
“You are a fraud, typhoon” Nicholas breathes, his lips drawn back over his teeth in a snarl as Vash winces. Vash lifts both of his hands to clutch desperately at Nicholas - one pressing over his thundering heart and the other curling around the wrist which gripped his own red coat. Nicholas scoffs, and tugs on his hair harder, forcing the blonde's head back so far that surely it hurts, that he undoubtedly struggles to even breathe.
“Nicholas” Vash breathes out, a pained whimper, and it’s like being doused in ice water, shoved into a murky blackness by the hand of an angel.
Nicholas’s grip loosens in Vash’s straw coloured hair, ever so slightly.
He’s so lost in his rage and his distress, in the gray area which undoubtedly exists between wanting to kiss Vash and wanting to watch the life drain from his eyes - that Nicholas doesn’t even feel the cold tip of the barrel which is pressed against his temple.
I missed you, you fool. Nicholas’s heart bleeds.
But Vash notices, and his eyes blow wide and bursting with fear as he releases Nicholas’s wrist with his prosthetic hand and thrusts it forwards.
“No!” He screams, a guttural sound which tears through Nicholas like a flurry of knives, like the claws of a beast.
He hears a trigger click, and the barrel of a revolver shift.
Vash’s blue-green hand curls around the end of the gun, the top of his palm brushes against Nicholas’s temple - a feather-light caress weighted with a gentleness that Nicholas knew he did not deserve.
The sound of a shot being fired is deafening, but it’s nothing compared to the pressure which immediately explodes behind Nicholas’s eyes - like being bashed in the side of the head with a metal pipe.
For a moment, he’s sure he’s been shot in the head.
Then his eyes peel open and he sees only Vash, his mech hand still hovering above Nicholas’s temple and his eyes wide as Nicholas’s hand goes slack and slips out of his hair. Vash lurches forwards then, pressing his other hand into Nicholas cheek as he blinks rapidly, his blue eyes flickering over Nicholas’s expression like he were scanning for something, anything.
Nicholas feels a droplet of crimson slide down his cheek and drip off his jaw, but it’s not enough…. Nowhere near enough blood for the injury he fully believes he has just sustained.
He wonders how many seconds he has left, ten maybe?
He can’t stop looking at Vash, he refuses too.
Nicholas can hear only a sharp ringing sound, and a voice he can only assume is Vash’s muttering to him over and over - the voice is distant and teary, as if Nicholas were listening to him through a sheet of thick glass or from under six feet of water.
Always separated.
A third sound joins the fray - a soft ping of something metal hitting the ground.
Nicholas glances to the floor, where he sees an almost entirely flattened bullet rolling past Vash’s hip.
The blonde's mechanical hand presses into Nicholas’s hair - it seems to omit a strange and almost comforting warmth from a single spot on his palm.
Nicholas pushes weakly at Vash, untangling their limbs and forcing himself backwards across the tavern floor as he heaves and gasps for breath - aching to be as far from the blonde as possible.
I tried to beat him to death, and in exchange he caught a bullet intended for my skull….
Nicholas needs to be anywhere other than here, any place in the galaxy other than trapped within the familiar yet haunting blue of Vash the Stampede's worried eyes.
He says nothing as he stumbles to his feet, leaving Vash helplessly alone on the floor of the tavern as he staggers backwards towards the door, blinking blood out of his eye as it drips from the wound on his temple - one caused by Vash’s palm slamming into the side of his head when he shielded him from death.
Nicholas takes one last look at him, and turns away.
____
Nicholas makes it halfway back to the bike, a ferocious summer thunderstorm brewing on the horizon and charging the damp air around him with the promise of lightning to come, before Vash catches up with him.
“Wolfwood! Wait-“
He picks up his pace, marching to the beat of his pulsing headache.
“You’re hurt, please!”
Nicholas’s hands flex at his sides.
“Let me….Let me patch you up, I won’t say a word, and then you can go-“
He rounds the corner into a nameless alley, desperate to get off the main road as the thunder cracks and splinters the sky above them - like the fist of something powerful and righteous bashing against the planet itself, delivering steadfast retribution.
“Then….then you’ll never have to see me again…. Nick, please let me-“
Nicholas turns so fast on his heel that it makes his head spin for a moment, his own pulse surging in his ears as he once again grips the front of Vash’s red coat in both hands and slams him backwards against a nearby wall, crowding him against the mouldy bricks with ease as Vash offers not a shred of resistance.
You never could walk away, could you?
“Please” Vash breathes out, his wide eyes brimming with tears and countless emotions that Nicholas couldn’t even attempt to name.
He takes a deep breath, swallowing as his hands push and pull at Vash’s coat - as if he can’t possibly decide if he should draw him nearer or shove him to the cobblestone and finish what he started in the tavern before the blonde ruined it by saving his damn life.
“I….. I put up missing persons posters, hundreds of them-“ Nicholas breathes out, his voice barely audible over the rumbling thunder as it approaches over the blackening horizon.
Nicholas finds himself trapped between the haven which beckons for him within Vash’s cerulean blue eyes, or the comfort and chaos of the oncoming storm which he has spent his entire life convincing himself is where he belongs - amongst the fear and the destruction and the noise.
“I didn’t know, I swear I-“ Vash chokes out.
“-I looked for you! Town after town trying to find you-“
“-Wolfwood, please-“
The first droplets of rain begin to fall, soft and cool - a sheep which runs ahead of the wolf that pursues.
“-It took a week before I started to really believe you were dead, I fucking…..I barely slept, I checked towns from top to bottom twice, I spoke to people in taverns, I played nice and-” Nicholas rambles, his voice like fire as he breathes it out.
“If I'd known you were looking, I would have come to you! You…..You have to know that, right?” Vash ducks his chin as he speaks, as if he were craning to be closer to Nicholas but not willing to push against the crossbearers grip on his coat, pinning him back against the wall.
Nicholas scoffs, shaking his head in pure disbelief and almost amusement “Would you have? Really? Because you look pretty damn comfortable here-“
“These people needed me! They never would have made it across the desert on their own-“ Vash punches out the words.
Nicholas releases him, taking a staggering step backwards as if Vash’s words had struck him in the chest. He doesn’t hesitate before screaming at him, carving through the rain as it now falls in sheets around them
“I needed you!”
Vash’s jaw snaps shut, his cheeks painted with a potent mixture of his own furious tears and the summer rain.
Thunder cracks overhead, and Nicholas can’t help but think he hears his own voice in the sound as it bounces off of the brick alleyway that concoons them, and that he finds it nothing but breathtaking as the storm clouds reflect in Vash’s bright eyes.
Nicholas jabs his finger against his own chest, blinking away blood and tears as he yells with all his might “I needed you, Vash! I needed to know that you were alive, that….That you were okay “
“Nicholas” Vash’s voice is barely a whisper, hushed by the icy tendrils of guilt that curl around the blonde's neck.
Nicholas rushes towards him again, pressing his finger into Vash’s chest the same way he had just done to himself.
“I mourned you”
Nicholas' palm flattens against his chest, his eyes squeezing firmly shut for a long moment as his palm slides up and over the blonde's shoulder to cup the back of his neck, rendered completely and utterly helpless to resist the urge to tug him closer.
Nicholas feels Vash’s breath fan against his cheek, warm and alive, and it’s almost enough to bring the sinner to his knees right then and there - and pray the rain simply washes him away, absolves him.
“I thought you were fucking dead, don’t you understand?” Nicholas speaks, dropping his chin to stare at the center of Vash’s chest - watching his chest rise and fall as his soaked shirt becomes plastered to his chest, making every breath he draws painfully easy to watch.
“I never thought you’d look for me…. Never, I didn’t think it made a shred of difference to any of you if I was alive or dead” Vash breathes out, his tone shattered, and the truth that rings in his words makes Nicholas’s heart stammer.
Nicholas heaves again, and lifts his chin to simply stare at Vash, marveling at just how young he looks with his normally unruly blonde hair flattened and plastered to his forehead by the rain.“Then you’re even more of a fool then I thought” Nicholas hisses.
Vash winces.
“You’re so fuckin’ desperate to be a strangers hero, a strangers martyr, that you can’t see whats right in front of your damn nose”
“I-”
Nicholas hand squeezes the back of his neck “I thought you were gone, and that sure as fuck meant something to me ”
“I’m sorry…. I’m so sorry-“ Vash babbles, shaking his head as his eyes screw shut and the first true sob rips itself from his tear-slicked lips.
His head flops forwards, pressing his forehead against Nicholas’s brow bone as another broken sob rips itself from his lips. The heat of it fans across Nicholas' jaw like a desperate caress, and he remains ramrod still as Vash cries against his cheek, each sob more harrowing then the last.
He thought we wouldn’t care if he survived or not, he genuinely believes his life is worth so little-
He hiccups, and Nicholas' other hand immediately lifts to fist in the soaked material of his black undershirt by the blonde's narrow waist. He feels Vash’s diaphragm tense and clench with every sob and gasp, an aching reminder of the weight of his humanity.
Vash cares so much, too much, that Nicholas truly believes that one day it will tear him apart from the inside out.
He can only hope that he’s not there to witness such a violent end, the one which is undoubtedly promised to Vash.
“Okay…. Okay” Nicholas shouts over the rain, turning his head to speak against Vash’s jaw as his shoulders tremble.
“Believe me please, I’m sorry-“ Vash wails again, the sound lives and bleeds as it curls around Nicholas like a vice.
Lighting rips across the sky above them and Vash flinches so violently that Nicholas’s hand almost slips off of the back of his neck. Vash’s usually flushed skin is slick and cold from the onslaught, or fear, or a deadly mixture of both.
“Get us out of the rain”
“Please-“
“Vash!” Nicholas punches out his name, and damn nearly dies right then and there of relief when the blonde finally seems to draw a breath.
“We gotta move-“
“I-“
“Now!” Nicholas forces out through gritted teeth, and wretches himself away from Vash with a shattered sigh, his hands flexing at his sides as if they missed him. Vash stumbles towards him, swaying on his feet as he presses his human palm to his face, hopeless hands trying to hold their keeper together.
“This….This way-“ Vash mumbles, pulling his hand away from his face to instead shield his eyes from the rain as he staggers towards the end of the alleyway - Nicholas follows him silently, his jacket plastered to his aching shoulders as the relentless rain weighs them both down.
Vash weaves his way through the outskirts of town, cutting them both a winding path through narrow streets and sheets of water until they reach a plain looking building - gray concrete and almost entirely void of windows, four or maybe five stories tall. Nicholas watches as Vash fishes a small set of keys from his pocket, his eyes flicking over his shoulder to find Nicholas’s as he unlocks the door with shaky hands.
“It used to be an office block, but they’re letting the refugees use it for now-“ Vash explains, shouldering open the metal door before beckoning Nicholas inside.
“Right” Nicholas says flatly as he pushes past Vash and steps into an equally lifeless looking stairwell, illuminated by only a singular hanging light, yellowed by time.
“This way, I’m at the top” Vash mutters, keeping his head down and his eyes hidden from Nicholas behind his dripping wet hair as he trots up the concrete stairs.
Nicholas follows at a safe distance, ignoring the ache which nips at the back of his thighs as he forces his legs to carry him upwards. Vash doesn’t say a word as he steps up onto the top landing platform, trailed by Nicholas as he pushes open the single door which waits for them up there.
Nicholas scoffs “No lock?”
Vash shakes his head, his back to Nicholas as he stands dripping in the doorway “I leave it unlocked on purpose, I want the refugees to be able to find me whenever-“
Nicholas shoulders past him roughly, cutting Vash off with another bitter puff of laughter as he barrels into the cramped “apartment”.
“So they can murder you in your sleep whenever the need strikes them?” Nicholas snaps, he hears the door shut behind him, sealing them both in.
“Yeah….Yeah something like that” Vash sighs, barely audible over the rain which slams against the flimsy tin roof above them.
Nicholas looks around, entirely unsurprised to see Vash’s temporary accommodation isn’t exactly something to write home about - it consists of a small circular table in one corner and a double mattress on the floor across from it, covered by only a singular thin blanket and a pillow. Nicholas spots a half-open door across from the entryway, and can only assume it’s some kind of bathroom. And that’s it, not even a kitchenette or a singular window. It brings Nicholas a wicked sense of comfort, knowing that at the very least Vash has not been living in comfort while he had been desperately searching for his corpse.
The single lightbulb in the cramped main room flickers, as thunder rumbles.
“Let me get you a towel and a change of clothes, the locals donated quite a bit of-“
Nicholas whips around to face him so quickly that he fans rainwater around himself like a halo.
“No, you do what you need to do to clear your damn conscious and then I’m walking out of that door”
Vash’s eyes are red from sobbing, and he frowns as he takes a half-step towards Nicholas.
“What about the storm? It’s not safe -“
Nicholas cocks his head, a silent warning that Vash hardly deserves.
The blonde deflates, and simply nods as he lifts his mechanical hand to push his sopping hair out of his eyes. “Okay, well give me a second-“ Vash breathes out before shuffling across the room and disappearing into the small bathroom.
Nicholas doesn’t dare to move, hell he hardly breathes in the minutes between when the bathroom door shuts and opens again.
He pretends he doesn’t feel relief when Vash emerges again, and Nicholas can once more confirm that the blonde is very much alive with his own weary eyes.
Vash is mostly dry now, dressed in a dark pair of comfortable pants and a long sleeved black shirt - which all but completely covers both his arms, adorning him in an almost dizzying amount of humanity. His hair has been towel dried in a hurry, and now fans around his head once more in a damp halo. Vash sighs as he raises another towel, holding it out towards Nicholas with a lopsided smile.
“You’re flooding the place” Vash chuckles, and Nicholas snatches the towel from his hands only to shut him up.
Nicholas roughly wiggles out of his soaked jacket, dumping it on the back of one of the rickety chairs which sat near the table before he begins to roughly dry his own hair with the small towel. He watches Vash move across the room, walking towards the mattress before dropping into a crouch to dig through his tan rucksack. Nicholas lets the towel hang around his shoulders, but doesn’t miss the smeared patch of red which now paints the light gray material.
His head aches, making Nicholas wince.
“Come here, let me have a look at that” Vash sighs, clearly having noticed Nicholas’s pinched expression as he walks towards the bathroom once more. Nicholas notices a small box now clutched in Vash’s hands - a first aid kit.
Nicholas’s eyes narrow, untrusting.
“Please, Nick” Vash mutters, his voice achingly quiet.
Nicholas relents, rolling his eyes as he walks towards the bathroom. Vash seems to light up as he approaches, and reaches around the doorway to flick the light on as Nicholas steps inside. The bathroom is just as plain and prison-like as the makeshift apartment it belongs to, consisting of only a chipped white sink, a toilet and a fogged mirror, as well as an almost comically small shower tucked into the corner.
“Here, just lean back against the sink” Vash says, pushing lightly at Nicholas’s shoulder so that his lower back is pressed against the white porcelain. The cold surface bites against his still very much damp undershirt, and Nicholas sighs as he grips the edge of the sink with both hands behind him - fixing Vash with a pointed glare, not exactly having appreciated being man handled by the blonde.
Vash offers him a bashful smile as he pushes the long sleeves of his black shirt up to his elbows “Sorry, I just need to be able to see your face and the light isn’t-“
“Get on with it, blondie” Nicholas snaps, cutting off his rambling.
Vash’s words die in his throat, and he sighs as he steps forwards - placing himself between Nicholas’s thighs as he reaches up to brush Nicholas’s hair away from his injured temple. Nicholas can’t help but wince as the wound throbs, and Vash withdraws his hand for a second with a soft sigh.
“I’m….I’m really sorry, for this”
Nicholas peels his eyes open to glare at him.
“The alternative was a bullet in my skull, was it not?” Nicholas mutters, his voice more of a low rumble than words at all.
Vash deflates, and reaches past Nicholas to place his first aid kit on the top of the toilet as he shrugs “Still, i'm sorry you got hurt” he breathes out, and Nicholas feels his breath hitch as he once again moves to push Nicholas’s hair away from the cut on his temple. Vash doesn’t speak again - smart move - as he pulls a handful of wipes and a square adhesive bandage out of the medical kit before placing them on the edge of the sink by Nicholas’s right hand, which remains gripping the edge of the sink.
He works diligently and silently, wiping away blood meticulously and filling the sink with pink and red stained tissue as he cleans up Nicholas’s temple.
Nicholas counts his breaths, his eyes tracing over Vash’s pinched features as the blonde remains completely and totally focused on the task at hand. Nicholas notices that the rich purple smudges under Vash’s eyes had grown darker in the last two weeks, and his cheeks look ever so slightly sunken.
Nicholas swallows….. Is he eating enough? Is he eating at all?
Vash tilts his head as he wipes again at Nicholas’s temple, providing Nicholas with a perfect view of the quickly blossoming purple and red bruise which is brushed almost delicately over his cheekbone.
Nicholas winces, a heavy lump of guilt forming in his throat.
Suddenly, he finds himself aching to shatter the silence.
“So, did everyone make it across the desert….The refugees?” Nicholas asks, making Vash flinch as he suddenly speaks.
“Uh….Not all of them no, there was a man who was injured in the shooting and….And a sick kid, a girl” Vash mutters, his voice soft and woven with regret.
As if he could have somehow miraculously saved them both, as if their deaths were nothing other than a direct result of his failure - not the result of a bloody fight, or a race against time and the genetic lottery.
So you haven’t been eating then, right Vash?
“Why this town? There are others much closer” Nicholas asks, and immediately regrets it when Vash’s eyes drop away from his wound to instead find Nicholas’s eyes, his hand pausing in its gentle cleaning.
“How do you know that?”
Nicholas feels Vash’s thigh bump against his knee.
“This town is the fifth closest, I would know because I visited the other four looking for your corpse” Nicholas mutters, refusing to look away from Vash’s seeking eyes as he speaks.
Vash lets out a trembling exhale, the heat of it warms Nicholas’s cheek.
“Where….Where’s Meryl? And Roberto-“
“Gone, they left without so much as a goodbye after a few days with no word from you”
Vash’s lashes flutter against his cheek as his expression falters “I see”
“The little lady wrote me a letter, told me you wouldn’t want me to live in the past”
Vash’s mouth snaps shut, he swallows as he slowly begins wiping at the cut on Nicholas’s face once more.
“But I’m a little bit stubborn, you see, they gave up looking for you long before I was smart enough too” Nicholas says, a cruel and bitter laugh taking onto the end of his sentence as Vash’s hand shakes against his temple.
“I don’t know why you bothered-“
Nicholas releases his vice-like grip on the sink with one hand, and instead fists it in the blonde's loose fitting shirt as he tugs him close - just to sneer at him.
“Don’t” Nicholas hisses, and only releases Vash when the blonde furiously nods.
Nicholas lets his fingers curl around the porcelain once more.
They slip into yet another tense silence.
Vash tosses the last bloody tissue in the sink, and quickly peels the adhesive off of the back of a square bandage he’d set aside before gently pressing it against Nicholas’s temple - shielding the wound from the dust and wind. “There” Vash sighs “Just keep that on for a few days and-“
His words die as Nicholas twists to the side and grabs another antiseptic wipe from out of the first aid kit, and with his other hand reaches up to grasp Vash’s chin - pressing his thumb into the soft skin below the blonde's bottom lip as he forces him to turn his head.
“Ah-“ Vash yelps, his eyes blowing wide with shock as Nicholas lifts the wipe and drags it as gently as he can over the bruise and collection of small cuts that dotted Vash’s cheek.
“Stay still” Nicholas sighs, drawing Vash closer as he wipes the thin material cloth over his cheek again.
“You really don’t have too-“ Vash stammers out, and Nicholas only rolls his eyes as he presses the inside of his knees against Vash’s thighs.
“Not a fuckin’ word”
Vash swallows deeply, and nods, letting his eyes flutter shut as Nicholas wipes dried blood and grime off of his cheek as gently as he can. Nicholas feels the words form in the back of his throat entirely against his will, but ultimately surrenders to them as his mouth falls open with a frustrated sigh.
“I’m sorry, alright?” He huffs, and fights the urge to take the words back almost immediately when Vash’s eyes flicker open to peer at him - their faces far too close for comfort.
“For what?”
“For punching you-“
“I deserved it” Vash chuckles, a breathy sound which makes Nicholas grip on his chin tighten.
“No, no you didn’t” he forces out through gritted teeth, and watches helplessly as a soft smile blooms on Vash’s lips.
“I forgive you, Nicholas”
Nicholas draws back, his brows furrowing together as his hand stills on the blondes cheek “Since when have we been on a first name basis?”
Vash smiles again, but the tug of his lips is wildly more assured this time.
“You can say mine if you want”
Nicholas rolls his eyes “Don’t push it, spike”
“Ah, fine fine” Vash sighs dramatically, pressing his weight into Nicholas’s grip on his chin as his eyes flutter shut once more.
It feels almost domestic, and for a moment Nicholas forgets that less than a few hours ago he had firmly believed that Vash was dead. The feeling lingers for only a smattering of seconds, but it’s comforting while it lasts.
“There, good as new, you escaped with your pretty face” Nicholas says as he dumps the wipe into the pile of them which already fill the sink behind him.
Vash’s eyes peel open once more, and he smiles softly as he steps backwards and out from between Nicholas’s thighs.
Nicholas pretends he doesn’t immediately miss having him there, so close and solid and alive.
“Thanks, really” Vash mutters out a soft thanks, his ears brushed pink as he presses his mechanical palm to the back of his neck and backs out of the bathroom.
“Don’t mention it”
Nicholas follows him back out into the living room, and it’s only then that he notices the thunder sounds much further away now, Vash must realize it as well - as he looks go towards the ceiling.
“Well, it looks like the rains easing up at least-“
He wants me to leave, of course he does-
Nicholas feels his heart ache, and snatches his damp jacket off the back of the chair it hung over with a shattered sigh.
“Looks like it’s your lucky night then, I’ll be on my way-“
Nicholas makes for the door as fast as his exhausted legs will carry him, refusing to turn over his shoulder and so much as glance at Vash as he curls his trembling hand around the doorknob.
“You're not even going to say goodbye?” Vash says painfully quietly, his voice splintering as it digs into the back of Nicholas’s shoulders like shards of glass.
“You didn’t” Nicholas breathes out, his fingers tightening around the doorknob as a familiar anger bubbles in his chest once more.
“I thought about you…. every day”
“But you didn’t look for me”
“I didn’t have a choice-“
“Yes! Yes you fuckin’ did! You coward-“
Nicholas turns on his heel, a fresh round of ammunition already to be unloaded on Vash waiting restlessly on his sharp tongue. But the words immediately shrivel up and die in the back of his throat when Nicholas catches sight of Vash once more - looking painfully small and broken as he stands in the middle of the cramped room, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks.
I’ve never seen him without that coat before. Nicholas realizes, his heart slamming against his ribs as if it were trying to escape the limitations of his mortal body. Or without the glasses.
“I missed you, Nicholas”
And the words are completely and utterly undoing; they burn and both ends and elicit riots, they sooth the sinner in the hour before his execution and fame the flame, coaxing it with a soft voice and even softer hands until it swells into a raging inferno. Nicholas’s futile resistance falls lifelessly to the floor between his feet, lying amongst the dust and the rainwater decorating the entryway.
Nicholas is in motion so quickly that he almost trips himself over in his haste to rush towards Vash.
“Enough” he chokes out, and he means it.
Those are the last words Nicholas mutters before he takes Vash’s face between both of his shaking hands, and slams their mouths together. It’s nothing like what a first kiss ought to be - it’s not gentle or timid or brimming with words unstead. Instead, Nicholas kisses him as if he were gasping for air, his fingertips pressing into Vash’s jaw hard enough that he’ll certainly have a string of oval shaped bruises to serve as a reminder of just how savagely Nicholas craves him.
Vash’s mouth tastes of rainwater and gunpowder and home, and Nicholas can’t help but groan against his lips as the blondes hands fist in the damp material of Nicholas shirt, pulling Nicholas impossibly closer as he tilts his head, slotting their noses together.
Their teeth clack together, Nicholas’s hands persistently twitch on Vash’s jaw, and the crying blonde never stops talking. His incoherent babbling taste sweet on Nicholas tongue as he mutters against Nicholas slack jaw, polluting the air around him with want-
“Nick-“
“A-ah-“
“Please-“
Nicholas slides one of his hands to the back of Vash’s skull, dragging his fingernails roughly across his hairline before burying his fingers in the short hair at the back of his neck. Vash gasps at the tender caress, and Nicholas thanks him for gifting him such a tender sound by shoving his tongue deeper into the wet heat of his pliant mouth. Vash’s hands never stop moving - they press against Nicholas' waist then drop to drag his fingertips across his hip bones, his nails scrape across the back of Nicholas shoulder blades and his thumbs press into the hollows of his collarbones. Nicholas quickly becomes drunk on it, and their already frantic kiss grows messier by the second as they pull and shove at each other.
Nicholas notices that Vash is making a conscious effort to not touch his bare skin with his prosthetic hand, and makes a mental note to scold him for it after they’d both burned out.
I wouldn’t change a single thing about you, Vash, not one damn thing.
Nicholas pulls away only far enough to gasp for air, making Vash whine as he tilts his head to mouth at the firm line of Nicholas’s jaw.
“Easy, angel” Nicholas coos, his heart slamming against his ribs as he draws Vash’s teeth away from the tender skin of his jaw to guide their mouths back together with a firm press of his pointer finger against the blonde's jaw.
Nicholas can feel his skin humming with warmth from underneath his thin nightshirt, and can’t help but drop the hand which wasn’t buried in Vash’s hair to grip the fine material at the hem of the shirt - pulling it up only far enough that he can press his palm flush against the impossibly flat and smooth skin of Vash’s lower stomach. Nicholas can only pray that the rough pads of his fingertips feel softer to Vash then they ever had to Nicholas himself as they drag across his abdomen and meticulously map the strange scars that paint Vash’s stomach - ones he never spoke of and Nicholas had long grown tired of asking about. The skin of Vash’s stomach feels like an oil panting - risen and imperfect in some places where the paint has dried thicker, but beautiful nonetheless, crafted by a nameless master of the craft almost entirely lost to time. The blonde gasps into the kiss, his tongue pressing feverishly against Nicholas’s own as he arches forwards - pressing back against Nicholas’s hand.
Nicholas takes the damn hint, and pulls his other hand out of the blonde's hair to join the one on his stomach - hiking the thin material of his shirt up over his navel before dragging his fingertips up and down Vash’s sides, along the hem of his low-hanging pants.
“W- Wolfwood-“ Vash stammers, curling both of his fingers into Nicholas' dark hair as he shivers under the gentle caress of his fingers dragging over his ribs.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this, to touch you exactly like this” Nicholas heaves out, wondering if Vash can taste the truth of his words along with the nicotine on his tongue.
“Ah….. I-“
Nicholas silences him by sealing their lips together in another searing kiss.
“Relax, sweet thing, I’ve got you-“
Vash lets out a broken sound, almost a sob as his hands drag along the back of Nicholas’s skull.
“Please-“
Nicholas draws back with a frown, ducking his chin to speak against the shell of Vash’s ear as his palms flatten against his lower stomach “You okay? This isn’t too much-“ Nicholas mutters, and earns himself a shattered gasp from Vash as he rapidly shakes his head.
“It’s okay, I p-promise-“
Nicholas sighs “Okay, we can stop any time you-“
“Nicholas”
“Okay…. Okay, come here-“
Nicholas draws him back into a much more tender kiss, sighing against Vash’s bitten lips as his hands slide around press against Vash’s lower back, smoothing up and down his spine as Vash languidly licks into his mouth. Nicholas lets him have it his way for a few long minutes, allowing his jaw to go slack and his mind to go blank as Vash takes exactly what he needs from him.
His skin is warm and flush under Nicholas’s palms, and his hair is dry where it brushes against Nicholas forehead. At some point Nicholas had lost his sunglasses, so he can even feel Vash’s eyelashes against his cheek as he tilts his chin and slots their noses together perfectly.
He smells like nothing and everything all at once, and between one moment and the next the reality finally seems to sink in.
Vash the Stampede is alive.
Nicholas presses his hands against Vash’s waist and slowly urges him backwards, guiding them across the floor until the back of Vash’s calves bump into the mattress. Their mouths seperate with a soft popping sound, and Vash’s eyes slowly flutter open to find Nicholas own, brimming with what Nicholas can only describe as stardust.
“Down?” He asks, his voice completely wrecked.
Nicholas draws his hands back from under his shirt to pat at Vash’s cheeks, combing one of his hands tenderly through his fringe as he smiles. “Down, angel”
Vash’s eyes flicker between Nicholas eyes and his lips a few times, and Nicholas sighs as he drops his hand away from Vash’s cheek to press into his shoulder - firmly enough that his knees give and he slowly sinks to the mattress. “I’m coming, don’t worry-“
Vash scoots backwards across the mattress as Nicholas kicks his shoes off before dropping to his knees at the edge of the plush surface. Vash’s eyes are wide and brimming with anticipation as he watches Nicholas shuffle slowly towards him on his knees. Nicholas sits in the center of the mattress, sitting back against the wall before cocking his head at Vash in a crystal clear ‘come here’ motion. Vash willingly obliges, reaching out to take Nicholas’s hand as he drags him into his lap.
Vash’s thighs tremble as they press to the outside of Nicholas’s hips, but his expression is nothing but warm as he drops his weight forwards to rub his forehead tenderly against Nicholas own.
Nicholas knows he should laugh at the almost childlike gesture, but instead his chest only swells with a wave of fondness as he presses his palm to the back of Vash’s neck and draws him back into a kiss.
The kiss is slow and languid, like a verse of poetry both of them knew word for word, a dialogue shared by a pair of kindred spirits.
Vash’s heartbeat is comforting as their chests press flush together, and Nicholas realizes just how foolish he had been.
The last town. He had promised himself only a day ago. One more town and then I bury him for good.
Vash sighs into the kiss, his gentle fingers brushing against Nicholas’s open collar, dragging a slow line up the side of his throat as if he were mapping the route.
I never would have been able to do it. Nicholas realizes. I would have gone to my grave having never buried him, having loved Vash my entire life.
Nicholas probably never would have noticed that he’d started crying unless Vash had drawn away from their kiss - his eyes wide and his jaw slack as his thumbs drag across the damp skin below Nicholas’s eyes.
“You’re crying” Vash chokes out, his voice thick with panic and disbelief as his eyes frantically dart over Nicholas’s face, crowding in close.
Nicholas shakes his head, trying to look anywhere but Vash as tears continue to slip down his cheeks. “S’Okay-“ he chokes out.
Vash presses his mouth against Nicholas’s cheek, directly under his eye. Sighing against his jaw as he presses his hands into the sides of Nicholas’s neck - undoubtedly feeling his thundering pulse.
“You’re crying” Vash repeats, his tone shattered as Nicholas sucks in a desperate breath.
“Vash, it’s not what you think-“
“I did this, didn’t I? I made you-“
Nicholas ducks his head, forcing Vash to draw back.
Their eyes lock, Nicholas blinks away tears.
“I missed you too, Vash. And I think….”
Vash hangs on his every word like a lifeline.
“I think I would have missed you forever”
Vash says nothing, he simply leans forwards and presses his mouth against Nicholas’s with a soft sigh, his familiar hands and selfless disposition bleed into Nicholas - filling in the cracks in his humanity, undoing damage that Nicholas believed could never be repaired.
Nicholas feels it, the unthinkable feeling-
He feels completely and totally understood.
“Vash” Nicholas breathes into the kiss.
Vash says nothing, he simply listens.
And it’s more than Nicholas has ever even dared to believe he would come to deserve.