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Shit.
“Shit,” Wolfwood says, just to feel the word in his mouth and to bring some weight to the air around him.
He smokes Roberto’s cigarette on the cusp of the elevator entrance. Logically, he knows it’s a bad place to stop. Elendira or any of the other weirdos could be lurking around, and Wolfwood’s guessing that his protection is even less now that he’s not part of the Eye of Michael anymore.
He puffs out a cloud of smoke.
He wishes the reporters had stayed behind. It had been almost a relief when they had decided to, if he felt things like that. He hadn’t really wanted either of them to get hurt. But they didn’t know what they had gotten tangled with.
You could have stopped them, some nagging voice in his head says.
He doesn’t like this voice. It’s the last dregs of him that are human, and he hasn’t heard it in a long time. But it’s been whispering at him, nagging at him, ever since he saw Livio. He half expects that Vash planted it in his head. Vash seems good at growing voices like that.
The reporters made their own decision, he tells the voice back. And he’s not a hero. He’s never had any delusions about that. Now doesn’t seem to be a particularly good moment to start pretending otherwise. He can’t make a difference, so why throw away his life for nothing? He’s worked pretty fucking hard to stay alive up until this point.
The building creaks and groans around him. Wolfwood glances up.
Christ, the world is going to end anyway. Knives is batshit enough to make it happen. No matter how he plays his cards, he’s got a losing hand, so is it so wrong for him to fold on his terms? He’d like a couple of years without being a weapon. Maybe he’s a hypocrite, knowing that the human race is going to end and doing little to stop it, but he figures that he’s buying the kids at the orphanage a better life than he got, short as theirs might be. They’ll die human, at the least.
He drops the stub of his cigarette to the ground and grinds it out underneath his shoe.
Go down, he tells himself. Get out of this city before it’s torn to pieces.
As if mirroring his thoughts, a gigantic root of all things comes pressing down the elevator shaft, moving the car out of place. Wolfwood stares at it. It just keeps growing and growing, crushing everything around it.
Every time he thinks he can’t possibly see anything weirder, his life proves him wrong. The experiments had been bad enough, but then Knives and Vash had come into his life.
“Fuck,” Wolfwood snarls. He turns and grabs the Punisher and begins walking, planning on following after Meryl.
…
At the precipice, Wolfwood stares down at the tank below. With all the branches, he can barely see the liquid. He can’t believe that Vash is down there.
He can’t believe that he’s enough of an idiot to go down there himself.
But the truth is, he’d made the decision the minute he turned around. He knows that he doesn’t stand half a chance against Knives if Vash wasn’t able to fend him off. He’s not really thinking about anything at the moment, if he’s being honest.
Beside him, Meryl is prattling on nervously, trying to formulate a plan of attack. He’d found her and freed her from the root that was holding her tight. He’d tried to break the glass down there, too, but even with the Punisher, the tank had held fast. No, the only way to get Vash out is to go down there and haul his ass out.
Wolfwood strips off his jacket and toes off his shoes. He backs up a few feet and then takes a running leap into the tank opening.
“Wolfwood—!” he hears Meryl call, shocked but unable to stop him.
He bangs off a branch before hitting the liquid below, which is more viscous than water. Belatedly, he wishes that he knew how to swim better. But, well, not much of an opportunity on a desert planet.
He blinks through the bubbles that surround him and begins to pull himself through the curling branches and opened plants until he sees –
Vash.
He freezes, wasting precious moments of oxygen, stunned by whatever he’s looking at. Because he doesn’t know precisely what he’s looking at. There’s so much happening, and he has to force himself to look just at Vash, floating and shaded over, as if in graphite.
He’s not sure that Vash is still alive. He might be too late.
Meryl had given him a hasty explanation that he only half understood of what Conrad and Knives were trying to do. He can’t imagine that either of them could possibly look at Vash right now and think that what they were doing was going to be good for him.
Wolfwood propels himself forward. He reaches Vash and then floats, hesitantly, in front of him. He’s afraid to touch him.
He does anyway, brushing his fingers along Vash’s cheek to see if it prompts any reaction. It doesn’t, but it’s enough for Wolfwood to guess that Vash is still alive. He presses his palm to Vash’s neck to feel his hummingbird pulse, which is still hammering away.
C’mon, Spikey, Wolfwood wills him. Come back to us. He refuses to believe that everything that just made Vash Vash has been wiped clean.
He wishes that he could talk to Vash, to call him back into his mind and body. Since he can’t, he does the only other thing he can to jolt Vash back to his self.
He takes both sides of Vash’s face in between his hands and kisses him, hard.
It’s like kissing a statute at first, nothing like the few kisses they’ve exchanged in the past. Wolfwood had always been the one to bring them to a stop, because he wasn’t stupid enough to break his heart like this, to fall for his mark. (But apparently he is just that stupid, or perhaps still just that human, despite himself.)
Vash had never been able to be still during any of those kisses. He’d always been smiling, shifting underneath Wolfwood’s hands, humming pleasantly to himself.
He’s almost nothing now.
The tank is nearly silent around them. It makes it so that each thud of Wolfwood’s own heart is painfully loud in his own ears. Each beat is a countdown, a measurement of how long Wolfwood can realistically stay down here and try to save Vash.
He’s just about to pull his face away from Vash’s when Vash gasps back to life underneath him. The soot color fades from him in a wave, all of his usual vibrant coloring returning. He arches desperately against Wolfwood, as if in pain, air flooding from his mouth in a stream of bubbles. One of his hands anchors onto Wolfwood’s shoulder, but the other flies to his back, trying to free himself of Knives’embedded blades.
He pulls one strand without finesse. It must hurt him, but Wolfwood follows suit without hesitation, grabbing at the strands and yanking them free. They shred the palms of his hands, and the liquid around them turns murky with a combination of his and Vash’s blood.
The roots, the Plants, everything starts to shake around them.
For an instant, Wolfwood catches sight of the portal that’s open behind Vash’s back, the one that he’s very pointedly ignored up until now because in part it’s not an immediate necessity and in part because he kind of can’t deal with it.
Through the opening, he sees Knives. The seismic activity that Wolfwood and Vash are causing has caught Knives’ attention, and he spins to see what’s happening. Having finally freed Vash, Wolfwood, wraps one arm around him and, with the other, gives Knives the finger. Wolfwood propels them up just as the portal seals itself shut once again.
Vash is heavier than he expected, dead weight against him. Wolfwood thinks that he’s passed out, leaving Wolfwood to struggle to the surface on his own.
When he finally does, he gasps loudly, sucking in lungfuls of air, as he treads awkwardly, trying to keep Vash’s head above the water as well. He manages to get them propped up against one of the larger branches and pushes Vash up onto it before hauling himself up as well.
“Meryl!” he hollers upward, because he’s going to need her help pulling Vash up along the branches and then out of the building. He hopes like hell that wherever he trapped Knives, he stays there for a good long while.
“Coming!” Meryl shouts, half running and half sliding down to meet him.
It’s tedious work, but together, they make their way slowly upward, climbing the curling branches and carrying Vash alongside them. He doesn’t stir the entire time. Meryl throws a thousand questions at him, and Wolfwood doesn’t answer a single one of them. What does he know anyway? Instead, he focuses on the feeling of the rough bark under his hands, agitating the cuts on his palms from where he pulled knives out of Vash’s body.
Finally, they reach the top of the abyss. Even Wolfwood is winded. He doesn’t know Meryl managed, but she’s uncomplaining all the same. They put Vash down on the ground, and Meryl hovers over him as if she’s afraid to touch him. His eyes are open and vacant, like they were when they found him on the sandsteamer. But his chest is rising and falling, providing reassurance that he’s at least alive.
Wolfwood’s afraid that he’s not all there, mentally, though. He knows that Meryl is thinking the same, since they know that Knives was messing around in his head. But Wolfwood also knows that he felt Vash move down in the tank, that Vash pulled away from Knives’ influence.
“We gotta get him out of here,” Wolfwood says finally. That’s what it all comes down to. Whether Vash is still there in the head or not, they have to move.
Finally quiet, Meryl agrees. Together, they haul Vash upright, one of his arms over each of their respective shoulders. Wolfwood spares a glance for the Punisher. He’s loath to leave it. It’s his – he’s earned it by blood, and it’s still their best protection. But he can’t carry it and Vash. So, it gets left behind.
Miraculously, getting out of the building is easier than getting out of the tank. Wolfwood keeps expecting fucking Legato or someone else to show up, but no one does.
Once they’re out outside, the streets of July are havoc. No one takes notice of them as they weave through panicking crowds.
“We won’t get far on foot,” Meryl says. She makes them stop, leaving Wolfwood to hold Vash on his own. With Vash leaned in against him, he can feel each soft puff of Vash’s breaths.
He doesn’t like the moment of stillness. It leaves too much room for his thoughts, and they’re unwelcome right now.
He tries to focus on what Meryl is doing – which is, apparently, hotwiring a car. Not a skill he would have counted among her repertoire. It takes her some time, but she manages it, even grinning triumphantly when she’s done.
Wolfwood lets out a scoff of disbelief.
“You’ll have to tell me where you learned that one sometime, short stuff,” he tells her.
They load Vash into the backseat and then they’re off, leaving July in the rearview mirror.
…
Meryl drives for hours until she’s squinting and yawing over the steering wheel. Wolfwood struggles. He has nothing to do, and Vash still hasn’t woken up.
They eventually stop to set up the best camp they can with the supplies the car has in its trunk. They make Vash comfortable. Meryl lies down in her own makeshift bed and is out instantly, but Wolfwood can’t sleep. He sits, propped up, and watches the two of them.
“Wake up, Vash,” he commands in a low voice.
Of course, nothing happens. The only comfort he can take is that he knows that Vash would rather be catatonic than let Knives finish whatever he was doing. July was pandemonium when they left, but Wolfwood is also sure that barely scratched the surface of whatever Knives intended to do. And however he wanted to weaponize Vash.
“You know, your brother’s a real asshole,” Wolfwood continues now that he’s gotten started. He doubts he’ll wake Meryl. “Who wants to change someone entirely when they say that they love them?”
Wolfwood’s no expert in love, but he knows that much.
Vash deserves better. He almost says that aloud too, but what’s the point? It seems to be one of the most universal of truths. From Knives, from the world. From Wolfwood.
He wants to lie down beside Vash and hold him in his arms, but he’s sure he doesn’t deserve it. So, he presses one solitary fingertip to the beauty mark that dots Vash’s face.
“Wake up, Spikey,” he instructs again, softer this time.
…
It takes days before he does. Wolfwood’s palms have begun to scab over. He’s idly smoking a cigarette in the middle of the dessert in the middle of the night when Vash sits up with a gasp.
“Wolfwood,” he says with his first breath, reaching forward as if he’s trying to grab someone.
Wolfwood is at his side in an instant, dropping to the sands beside Vash. Vash takes one look at him and bursts into tears. Without thinking, Wolfwood tries to draw him close, to hold him. But Vash won’t allow it.
Instead, he looks up at Wolfwood with desperation, pressing his hands to the sides of Wolfwood’s face as if tracing his features.
“Is this real?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Wolfwood answers hoarsely. “Yeah, Needle-noggin’. This is real.”
Vash traces the slope of Wolfwood’s nose and then pulls his hands back, balling them against his temples.
“He – he took things from me,” Vash says, sounding a touch hysterical. “I’ve forgotten things, but I don’t know what –”
“I think you’re okay,” Wolfwood says. He’s surprised at how gentle his own voice comes out. He can barely remember the last time that he was gentle with another living being, where he offered comfort.
Vash looks up at him with wide, pleading eyes.
“You remember me,” Wolfwood reminds him. “You remember Meryl.” He gestures to where she’s still asleep. “Luida? Brad? The lady in your photograph?”
Vash startles at the mention, but it’s the reference to the picture that seems to calm him down the most.
“Rem,” he whispers, putting his fingertips to his lips as he says them, as if he needs to feel the word.
“Rem,” Wolfwood repeats. He hasn’t heard the story from either of the twins on who she is, really, but he knows that she’s important. Vash carries relatively little with him, but the photograph has made it through everything.
Vash’s tears slow and his breathing evens out.
“I dreamt of you,” Vash says suddenly, looking back up at Wolfwood with those big eyes. He presses his fingers more firmly against his lower lip.
Wolfwood swallows, the clicking of his throat audible to both of them.
“You kissed me,” Vash says, quietly, as if he’s sorting through the memories and dreams as he speaks. “And that was when – things started coming back. I remembered you.”
His looks turn beseeching; it turns into a question: Is that real too?
“I did,” Wolfwood confirms. What’s the point in hiding it now? The truth can be a weapon like anything else, but Wolfwood stopped hiding the moment that he turned around and went back for Vash. He’s exposed. Vulnerable.
Vash’s eyes start to water once again.
“Do it again?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.
Wolfwood leans in slowly and brushes their lips together once more, lingering this time. He can feel every breath that Vash takes and the minute tremble that courses through his body. It’s not enough, but it’s something good, and he wants Vash to know that he deserves it.
They move slowly, softly, against each other, as if any little movement could break the moment. Vash’s hand brushes almost shyly through his hair, and it’s then that Wolfwood can’t resist but holding Vash’s face in between his hands again.
When they part, Vash leans his forehead against Wolfwood’s.
“Thank you,” Vash whispers.
“Don’t thank me, Spikey,” Wolfwood says. “Start talking care of yourself instead, all right?” It’s a big ask, but he’s going to drill it into Vash’s head for as long as Vash lets him stay by his side. It’s far past time for Vash to learn the difference between selflessness and sacrifice. It’s time for him to understand how good he is and how much he means to other people. Wolfwood knows that there are probably better people on this planet to do that, but somehow the job has fallen into his lap. He’ll do the best he can.
Vash nods and smiles, as if it’s something simple, as if he hadn’t just followed Wolfwood into his murderous brother’s trap. And fuck Knives, Wolfwood thinks viciously. But, really, there’s no revenge better than Vash learning what love from others and for himself should look like.
Vash winces partway through his nod.
“What’s wrong?” Wolfwood asks immediately.
“Headache,” Vash mumbles, pressing a hand to his forehead and lying back down. He keeps his other hand tangled in Wolfwood’s shirt.
Probably not surprising, Wolfwood figures, given the amount that’s gone on in that head of his.
Wolfwood sinks down against him on the ground and presses a kiss to his forehead. Vash immediately burrows close against him, not hiding the small smile that graces his lips.
Wolfwood watches over him until he falls into a proper sleep. He knows that tomorrow is going to be hard. That Vash is going to worry over the state of July, and Wolfwood and Meryl will have to fess up to what they’d seen and that they don’t know where Knives is or when he’s coming after them again.
But that’s tomorrow.