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Sometimes Vash loses track of time.
He doesn’t know what causes it – be it his age or his nature or a mysterious worm-borne illness picked up on the last sand steamer – but one moment he’ll be moving forward with plans and a destination in mind and the next he’ll be lying curled up in the sand dunes, unsure if it’s even day or night and not caring either way. He’s vaguely aware there’s a world happening around him that he ought to be participating in, but it’s like his emotions have all been seeped away, bleeding into the sand along with the strength of his muscles to do anything but curl up into a smaller ball and atrophy in that position.
He’s still breathing when he gets like that, he thinks, but it’s hard to say if he’s not just mistaking the sound for the wind. The only thing he can still feel is that dim electric hum that has always vibrated through the air of this planet, cold and sharp like carbonated water on his tongue. It’s the chatter of his sisters, distant and ever-present. The hum doesn’t communicate any real meanings (it would be hard to from this far away), but it is comforting. It reminds Vash of the way people sing absentmindedly while they cook or do some other menial task.
He thinks he might try to sing back when he’s buried in the sand, but he’s not sure how he does it. The part of him that’s a human doesn’t know how it all works, relegated to a silent listener, but whatever primal thing takes over when he’s like this might.
Eventually, it passes and the numbness fades. He crawls up out of the ground like coming out of a dream and dusts off his coat, pouring the sand out of his poor, abused prosthetic. Then he stands and keeps moving to wherever he was going before.
“What is wrong with you?” Knives once asks, around a decade after they crash-landed on the planet. “How can you just lay down and go to sleep? Aren’t you angry?”
Vash just responds with a glare. He doesn’t like talking to Knives these days, especially when he’s just provoking him. Of course he’s angry, but Vash knows that particular anger isn’t what Knives is talking about.
Knives scoffs. “I bet if a human told you to die, you would just roll over and do it, wouldn’t you?”
“I wouldn’t,” Vash rasps, his throat dry from disuse.
“You’re right, you wouldn’t even roll over, you would just lie there and let them put a bullet in your head without even a twitch.”
Vash goes back to silently glaring. His limbs still feel numb from his last episode. Knives had been dragging his lifeless body through the desert for a few days. He came back into awareness with the coppery scent of blood in the air. It’s hard to keep up the glare now; his eyes are itchy from crying.
“You’ve always been like this,” Knives continues. “I don’t get how you can just close your eyes when you know what they’re doing to us. How can you stand shutting down like that when I know you can hear our sisters dying the same as me?”
“Because of you,” Vash bites venomously.
“Because of me, there’s a chance for them. Because of me, you aren’t dead! Who else would drag you around when you refuse to use your own two legs?”
Vash’s lips curl and he grips his arms around his knees tighter.
Knives smiles thinly. “I’m the only one in the world who cares about you, Vash. You could at least try to make it a little easier on me.”
Because you killed her! Because you killed her! Because you killed the only one who loved us!
Vash doesn’t say it but Knives seems to get the message, rolling his eyes and moving away from him. Vash buries his head in his arms, fingers pulling at the roots of his hair and rocking back and forth to ward off the maelstrom of frustration and despair eating away at him. I’m sorry Rem, I’m sorry Rem, I’m sorry Rem…
From within the sand dunes, a sweet voice calls to him and tells him that it will all be alright if he just lies down and lets the numbness take over again. He tries not to listen.
Vash doesn’t like to be around people when it happens. First of all, it’s terrifying to be that vulnerable. Vash is already a wanted man, always on the run; if the bounty hunters caught him at a bad time, who knows what would happen. But more than that even, Vash hates the way it makes him seem less… human. He’s been mistaken as a corpse once or twice (he doesn’t have time to get into the one awkward occasion a nice old couple had begun to dig him a grave only for Vash to suddenly come to, groggy and confused and half-covered in dirt) but even that’s a tame reaction.
Something happens to Vash’s body when he slips away. Eventually, things start to… unravel. Fingers and limbs peel back like dying petals, skin wrinkles and sags like overripe fruit, unnerving feathery appendages start seeking their escape through any crevice they can find like mushrooms from the mold. It’s like without the influence of Vash’s consciousness his body starts forgetting it’s supposed to at least look human.
Vash really doesn’t like exposing people to that kind of horror show.
So of course Meryl and Milly catch him during an episode.
“Good morning, Mr. Vash! How are you today?” Milly says, cheer a little forced as she gently shuts the inn door behind her.
Vash tries to smile, but he can’t quite manage to pick his head up off the pillow. “Better,” he rasps, just above a whisper. From what the insurance girls have told him, he only lost a couple days this time. He can still feel the gravity of the planet trying to sink him further down, which is why he’s still in bed fighting to stay conscious, but experience tells him this is just the last dredges before he’s cut loose and able to move freely again.
Even a couple days was enough to scare the girls.
“We’re so used to chasing your coattails, we didn’t expect to find you sleeping in,” Milly says when he initially regains awareness.
“Really, Vash! If you’re feeling sick, you should tell us,” Meryl adds.
“Sorry… didn’t mean to worry you… I’ll get better soon…”
“Well, hey, at least you’re not causing any disasters like this! We’re in no hurry, aha…ha,” Meryl says with an awkward earnestness and immediately winces. It makes Vash laugh—just a small, rumbling little thing right now. He’s grateful these two are his friends (even if they’re trouble sometimes) and even more grateful they didn’t catch him in a more inhuman state.
His body below the covers still feels slightly wrong. Vash tightens the blanket around him.
He doesn’t want to see them look at him in fear.
“Mr. Vash?”
“Hm?” Vash responds, realizing Milly’s been trying to get his attention in the present.
“If you ever need to take a break, me and Miss Meryl will help you out,” she says. “It’s okay to slow down every once in a while, you know?”
Vash blinks. Then he smiles. “You’re good insurance agents. Make me want to never cause trouble again.”
“Don’t be silly, Mr. Vash,” Milly scolds. “The offer isn’t from Milly and Meryl, the Bernadelli Association agents; it’s from Milly and Meryl, friends of Mr. Vash the Stampede.”
One of the strongest emotions that often manages to escape the dull waves of sand and static is, ironically, the tightening panicked fear that he’ll never claw his way out of this. With experience, Vash knows eventually he’ll be released, but the first time he ever slipped away it was much more harrowing.
It happened before Tessla. Knives said he tried to wake Vash up from where he’d fallen asleep in the zero-gravity chamber, but Vash refused to move. Vash doesn’t remember that, but he does remember snippets of conversation after Knives had gone to get Rem.
“He’s not supposed to sleep in there.”
“Yes, I know, Knives.”
“You’re gonna tell him to get up then, right? He’s gonna get in trouble, right?”
“That will depend after I talk to him, Knives.”
“I already talked to him and he wasn’t responding. Sleeping in there is a safety hazard, so he should get in trouble, right?”
“Knives. Go play on the bio-deck. I’ll take care of Vash.”
“But—”
“Now.”
“…fine.”
Even from the beginning, Knives was always wary of the frequent low moods Vash would find himself in. He acted like he was angry, but Vash knew better. For all his complaining about Vash being lazy or boring, whenever Vash had a bad day, Knives would sneak from his bed that night and climb into Vash’s. Their twin hearts beating together and the dim hum they would echo back to each other in the instinctual way only plants could was more soothing than any lullaby.
(Vash wonders if Knives ever misses it the way he does.)
“Vash?”
Rem’s cool hand brushes his cheek. It feels more distant than normal. That frustrated panicked part of him feels the intense urge to cry.
“Can you hear me, Vash? Can you see me?”
He thinks his eyes are open, but he can’t see her. Not the way he should, at least. It’s more that he senses her presence floating there by his side. It’s almost enough to tether his mind, but he can feel himself slipping away again. Rem! I’m here, Rem! Please don’t let go!
Time must pass, because when the vastness of space recedes back enough for him to be aware again, Vash realizes he’s being cradled in Rem’s arms, spinning gently together in the zero-gravity chamber. Rem is speaking, calmly recounting some story to him, though Vash can’t make out much of the details. It doesn’t really matter what she’s saying, just that she’s here. It feels safe.
His consciousness wanders in and out like the Earth’s ocean on the shoreline in those old videos he and Knives like to watch. Each time he surfaces, Rem is still there, still holding him.
“It’s okay, Vash. It won’t last forever. Nothing does,” Rem tells him. “You know, there’s an old Earth saying I’ve always liked: ‘This, too, shall pass.’ It’s supposed to be the one phrase that’s true no matter what.”
Vash only ever had a handful of episodes in that first peaceful year of childhood and they were never very long. Hardly even noticeable compared to the years soon to be eaten away by the sands of the desert planet. After Tessla, he will almost slip away fully, but the need to protect his brother caught in perhaps the same nothingness that nips at Vash’s heels on a ship of monsters will keep him awake and Rem’s stubborn determination will ultimately keep him alive.
One hundred and fifty years will go by and Vash will still hold onto Rem’s words even then.
“It’ll pass, Vash. I’ll be here with you until then.”
Vash has grown to fear his body. He’s always been scared, but now more than ever he’s been made aware of exactly the kind of nightmare he is under his human skin. He’s been losing control of his form more and more lately, feathers creeping around his leather bodysuit like vines and poking dangerously at the threads of his coat whenever his focus wavers. So it shouldn’t be too much of a surprise to learn that his episodes have been getting worse.
He can’t afford to fade away just yet. Now more than ever he’s been fighting tooth and nail to ward off the lethargic pull from the sand dunes. But even with his determination, it still catches up to him. (He can disintegrate a city and blow a hole in the goddamn moon, but he can’t fight off one stupid nap? It’s frustrating beyond belief.)
One evening, sitting quietly in Wolfwood’s sidecar, Vash feels his awareness popping in and out dangerously, not unlike nodding off at the bar. It’s earlier than they usually stop, but Vash claims he’s extra tired and that they need to make camp now. Wolfwood grumbles but acquiesces.
Vash can feel Wolfwood’s searing gaze on his back as he unrolls their sleeping bags. He knows Wolfwood is concerned about him. This isn’t the first time Vash has begged to stop early before after all. Vash tries to play it off as just sleeping, but Wolfwood’s seen Vash lie in an inn bed completely unmoving for days at a time. He has to have noticed the ways Vash’s body has been falling apart too.
Still, Wolfwood doesn’t ask questions. Vash likes that Wolfwood doesn’t ask questions.
“Spikey. Spikey.”
Vash blinks awake with a small gasp. It’s night. He’s just sitting on his sleeping bag. Wolfwood is in front of him, closer than Vash was expecting. He must have slipped away, Vash realizes with a start.
“Y-yeah?” Vash murmurs, his mouth already tasting like rotten fruit.
Wolfwood doesn’t have his sunglasses on so Vash can see the way his eyes flicker to Vash’s sleeve, then back again with a small frown. Vash realizes there’s a feather leaking around his glove. He subtly shifts the sleeve lower, leaving his other hand lying over it. Wolfwood doesn’t point it out.
Instead, he says, “You planning on sleeping or just sitting there?”
Vash smiles. “Sleeping sounds nice.”
“Well, don’t wait for me to tuck you in.”
Vash laughs as Wolfwood walks over Vash and to his own sleeping bag, putting out his cigarette and shucking his coat and belt carelessly. “Aw, but Wolfwood, I like it when you tuck me in.”
Wolfwood doesn’t grace that with a response. By the time he’s unceremoniously pulled the sleeping bag over his head, Vash is still sitting there. He lifts up his hand to watch the feathery tendril on his wrist venture further out, fluttering back and forth like a blade of grass in the breeze. He takes a deep breath, trying to will his body to stay human during the night.
Slowly, he inches his way under his thin sleeping bag. It’s cold. He can feel his ability to care about that growing distant.
“Spikey,” Wolfwood says suddenly. He hasn’t moved.
“Hm?”
“Are you… okay?”
Vash laughs wryly, looking up at the stars as if they could help. “I don’t think either of us are people who are ever okay.”
“I meant—shit, just. You keep spacing out.”
Vash hums. “I do that.”
“I’m not gonna freak out, you know.”
“Freak out?”
“The plant shit. You don’t have to keep hiding it.”
Vash blinks. They rarely ever talk about these things.
“I ain’t gonna run from you. You ought to know that by now.”
“You should,” he whispers.
“I won’t,” Wolfwood says with conviction.
Vash smiles to no one. The sand is pulling him under, but he wants to stay lucid to talk to Wolfwood for a little longer. “Is it bad that I like hearing you say that?”
Vash can hear Wolfwood say something back, but the words don’t register. The electric hum of his sisters fills his mind instead. It scratches against him more painfully than usual. Vash blinks heavily and Wolfwood is suddenly hovering above him. His eyes shine with the moonlight.
“You have beautiful eyes, Wolfwood.”
“Stop messing with me,” he says, but his expression seems pained. He nudges Vash with his foot and says, “Scooch. It’s cold as shit.”
Vash does as told. Wolfwood plops down next him, burrowing under the cover and draping their extra blanket over the two of them. Vash hadn’t realized he was so cold before, but it’s nice now that there’s an extra body pressed up against him.
He feels a tendril break loose from his torso. It’s sobering enough to let a spike of panic break through his haze, reminding him of what he doesn’t want to expose to Wolfwood.
As if reading his thoughts, Wolfwood reaches forward and cups a hand around the back of Vash’s neck. His thumb rubs comforting circles through the baby hairs there. Vash feels his breath catch.
“It’s okay,” Wolfwood whispers to him. Tiny feathers sprout up under Wolfwood’s hand and he doesn’t hesitate to soothe those down as well. “I ain’t running. I got you.”
Vash surrenders all control after that, letting Wolfwood pull him close. Details become fuzzy, but he knows Wolfwood is whispering low comforting things to him, warm hands rubbing absentmindedly over his back and brushing through his mussed hair. Wings and strange, foreign appendages spill from Vash’s coat—twisting, crackling things that grow out of each other like weeds. Wolfwood soothes those with soft touches as well.
Vash curls up with his head on Wolfwood’s chest, his heartbeat a steady comfort. Even if the emotions that come with them feel so far away, tears still well up in his eyes.
“You’ll be okay, Spikey. It’ll pass.”
Wolfwood will never know how much that means to Vash.
Sometimes Vash catches a glimpse of Wolfwood in the desert. He knows it’s just a mirage, a trick of the light and his muddled mind conjuring his ghost, but even still – Vash catches a glimpse and stares and stares until his eyes water with the strain, tears dripping past reddened eyelids, long enough to grow roots deep into the soil of the planet, until his prosthetic arm grows rust and his flesh arm grows leaves and never long enough to numb the pain aching sweetly in his chest. Then he blinks and Wolfwood is gone again.
Vash slips away from himself almost immediately after getting in the car with Livio. He used to be so careful about when he’d surrender to it and around who. But he can’t bring himself to care much after… after.
It’s times like these that Vash finds himself envying his sisters. They can stay far away from the intimate pains of the world, nestled safely away in their bulbs. Humans ask something of them and they can do it easily and then go back to sleep. They don’t know people and people don’t know them. They don’t ever have to ache like Vash does now.
But that’s not right. Vash knows his sisters feel just as strongly as he does. They yearn for the deep relationships an independent plant is capable of; he knows from the way they hum eagerly when Vash puts his head to the glass and shows them kind memories.
Vash wonders if his episodes aren’t just a vestigial instinct inherited from his dependent siblings. If not that, what else?
“Are you going to leave Vash?” Knives once asks when they’re still young and innocent.
“Leave?” Vash looks around at the bio-deck in confusion. “But we just got here?”
“Not like that,” he mumbles. He looks almost nervous when he turns to look at Vash. “Sometimes, it feels like you’re going to disappear if I’m not looking at you.”
Vash blinks. He almost says, I won’t, but the words catch in his throat. He doesn’t know what it means then.
“Don’t go disappearing on us again,” Meryl tells him two years after he blows a hole in the fifth moon. She says it like she’s annoyed, but her tone betrays a real sense of worry. “Just let us know where you’re going next. We’ll follow. Erm, I mean, Bernadelli instructions and all that…”
“I’ll try not to disappear on purpose,” Vash says. “Don’t want to make you girls’ jobs harder, of course.”
Meryl’s sharp gaze pins him to the spot. “Try?”
I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep. He smiles and doesn’t respond.
“It won’t last forever. Nothing does,” Rem tells him.
Wolfwood’s arms are warm around him in an inn bed. He smells like cigarettes and old sweat and it all feels too precious for Vash. Maybe that’s what I’m scared of, Rem.
“Oh, Vash,” Rem sighs from the car seat next to him. “You have so many places to go and people to meet. We have to see where that blank ticket of yours leads, don’t we?”
“Maybe it leads nowhere at all,” he whispers. “Maybe I keep slipping away because that’s what I really want.”
“Bullshit,” Wolfwood says, replacing Rem in the seat. It hurts too much to look at him yet. “The pain will pass. You’ll get through this—and I do mean all of this. I know you, spikey idiot. Why are you doubting yourself now?”
“Because if I actually wanted to be here, why would I keep trying to disappear?”
“If you actually wanted to disappear, why would you keep coming back?”
Vash breathes in sharply, turning to look at Wolfwood but he’s already gone. That’s right, it’s just him and Livio in this car. He sighs, putting his chin in his hand and staring listlessly out the window.
For once, he’d just fallen asleep and had a dream.
There’s so much left to do. He won’t betray Wolfwood’s life by leaving it behind. Or Rem’s or anyone else’s. It’ll pass, whether he likes it or not.
In the years after everything is settled, Vash finds himself visiting Knives’ last creation often. It’s a peaceful spot for a nap, far away from prying eyes outside of the old doctor and his son. Sometimes he’ll talk to the apple tree like it’s Knives himself. Sometimes he’ll hum for him—both human songs and plant ones. Sometimes he’ll just sit and enjoy the breeze.
Vash feels his mind slip away and wings with feathers like fern leaves sprout all across his body. The leaves grow around stitches, reaching up to touch the actual leaves of the tree. Vash lets it happen, trusting he’ll come back soon. He likes to think the apple tree reaches back.
It’ll pass, it’ll pass, it’ll pass. There’s peace in that.