Chapter Text
Five days out from Octovern and surrounded by forty iles of nothingness, Fort Ida was quaint.
A dusty, unsuccessful little town with no Plant and barely enough businesses to sustain the economy. The dictionary definition of backwater. Perfect, in Wolfwood’s personal opinion. No bandits, no outlaws, no crazy people wanting his head on a stake. If he had a nickel every time that happened, he wouldn’t be working for Knives.
Thoughts like that one idled their way through Wolfwood’s mind and passed without comment. He tended to try to not and think about his affiliation, especially with Vash around.
It had been a taxing day. Relentless sun had baked layers of sweat onto Wolfwood’s body, his shirt opened a few more buttons than usual. He had spent the day trudging along behind Vash, staring at his back and wondering how he survived the heat in that damn coat. Wolfwood had given up any semblance of sane thought about four hours in, instead letting his brain bake and drip into a comfortable autopilot that kept one foot stepping in front of the other.
His gaze, not really seeing, kept him focused on Vash walking ahead of him and not the endless sand sea around. Conversations with the man were few and far inbetween, he noticed, as they had both fallen into a comfortable silence while trudging along. Vash had kept his gaze focused on the skyline the whole time, intently waiting for a town to appear.
When Fort Ida made its appearance on the horizon, Vash had perked up quite a bit. although Wolfwood didn’t join in on Vash’s elated blabbering, he had to admit he was grateful. The blisters on his feet were bordering on intolerable, and a drink sure as hell sounded nice.
Wolfwood couldn’t help as his lips quirked upward. The projected outlook for the evening was looking great: dinner, the bar, a shower, and then getting to sleep with Vash, whatever way you interpreted that.
As they passed through streets, he kept his eyes peeled, taking in details of the town. Dusty as hell. Una chinga de niños. Mountains bracketing the eastern side. Lucky. They could be an easy hiding spot if something went awry.
Shaking his head gently, Wolfwood tried to push that voice down and continue walking.
We won’t need to do any hiding this time, he promises, perhaps more for Vash’s sake than his own. But he can’t help it. Trouble comes to Vash like a Labrador to a sausage, and the constant fights keep him hyperaware, mind churning.
Vash skittered off, and Wolfwood looked up, broken out of his thoughts. They had wandered their way into town square, now being surrounded by many more people, vendors and businesses. A little donut stand had caught his attention, and Wolfwood snorted under his breath at the familiarity of it all.He stationed himself a few ards behind his partner, content to just survey the scene from behind his sunglasses.
“Oh-please! c’mon! I’m a weary traveler! I haven’t eaten for days!” Vash moaned, sagging forward dramatically. The lady shook her head.“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before. 15 double dollars for three is your final price, kid.” Vash’s head drooped in defeat.He glanced over to Wolfwood, who was hovering about ten feet behind him, probably glaring at people to make them uncomfortable again. Vash sighed. No way was he going to lend Vash a few double dollars right now.“Well? You gonna buy them or not? You’re holdin’ up the line.” She stated, scowling.
“I am! I was just-“ Vash stammered.
“Hey.”
Vash was suddenly yanked back by his collar. Stumbling backwards with a yelp, he landed squarely on his ass is the sand. Wolfwood towered over him. “Don’t blow all your double dollars on donuts, Needle-noggin. We still have to eat dinner, you know,” he chided, flicking Vash on the forehead as his companion whined. “That’s not ‘blowing our double dollars’, Wolfwood…” Vash grumbled sadly as he righted himself on his feet, with no choice but to follow the priest as he took off across the square.
“Can it, Blondie,” Wolfwood was beelining towards the bar. “We’ll have enough for donuts after we find some work in this godforsaken town.”
“Hey!” Protested Vash. “Acting as if we’re going to find work there.” He scoffed, deflatedly following him up the steps.
To be honest, the bar looked more like someone’s rickety old house than a business, but it was clear the community made do. Several men playing cards dotted the porch, along with a sleeping orange dog and a sign cheerfully announcing the lunch menu.
The two passed under a precarious sign advertising the Gilded Grape, Wolfwood leading the way as they paused at the door. A smattering of fliers were tacked up around eye-level.
“Actually, we just might.” Wolfwood remarked, leaning down to read them. “Well.” Vash huffed dramatically. He brushed past Wolfwood and entered the bar. His companion rolled his eyes. Never a day’s break from the humanoid drama queen.
Wolfwood sighed. He supposed he’d better follow Vash, lest he decide to make trouble of some kind. It’s a passing thought, one he doesn’t pay much mind to as he strolls through the saloon-style doors.
Wolfwood stops dead in his tracks.
One more step forward, and he would’ve collided with Vash’s back. But not a single snarky comment has time to leave his mouth before he takes in the full picture. The eyes of every person in the room were locked on them. Nicholas tensed, his grip on The Punisher intensifying. He spotted a familiar wanted poster tacked behind the counter and cussed under his breath.
“Ahah- hello everyone!-“ Vash’s uneasy voice cut through the room. He raised his hand in an awkward little wave. “My name is-“ Wolfwood had heard enough. Blood thundering in his ears, he lunges forward, taking a handful of Vash’s coat, and throws him backwards through the saloon doors.
The Stampede lets out an undignified yelp-much better than whatever dumb bullshit he was about to say. it’s good that Nicholas got him out, though, because bullets start flying as soon as they move. Wolfwood bursts through the doors, bullets on his heels.
“c’mon, Spikey! I’ve had enough of this bum town!” Gritted the priest, taking off down the street with Vash bounding behind him.
Both of them can cover huge strides since they have freakishly long legs, but it’s still not fast enough in Wolfwood’s opinion. Gunfire and yells of Vash The Stampede echo behind them. The town had erupted in chaos, feet thundering after them and bullets zinging off of walls. Dust kicked up into the air, invading Wolfwood’s lungs and mixing with the smell of gunpowder.
“Wolfwood!”
Vash dashing alongside him, Wolfwood turned down a side alley, narrowly ducking a bullet aimed for his head.
“What?! Save it for when we’re out of this mess!” Snapped the priest, skidding around a corner.
Wolfwood promptly stopped in his tracks.
“Oof!” Exclaimed Vash as he collided with his back. “Shit, Spikey, we’re blocked in,” he breathed, observing the scene around them.
The two had ended up smack dab in the town’s worst dead end, complete with windowless sandstone walls and piles of garbage lining the sides. Wolfwood groaned. Gunfire was rat-a-tatting its way closer every second. Turning on his heel, he dropped his grip on The Punisher and its wrappings unfurled to the sand. “Wolfwood...” Vash whined between his teeth, a reproachful expression flitting across his features. “Sorry, Blondie.” He grumbled, raising the gun up to his shoulder. The sunlight glinted off its shiny hull. It seemed to take up as much space in the small alleyway as a whole person.
The shouts and gunfire got closer, and, as they rounded the corner, the sound of machine guns blazing, Wolfwood pulled the trigger.
Bang!
He could almost feel Vash wincing as the man crumpled to the ground, blood pouring out of his shoulder. The bandit’s companions surrounded him in a clamor, raining down gunfire ahead of them. Wolfwood followed Vash as he leapt behind a pile of old boxes. Not the best cover, but the only thing they had right now. Wolfwood hefted the Punisher back over his shoulder, gritting his teeth as he returned fire, mowing down line after line that encroached on the alleyway.
“Shit! Spikey, this cover ain’t lastin’ long!” He growled, ducking back behind the boxes as a bullet whizzed past his ear.
“I know, I know, I have an idea-“ Vash fumbled with the buttons on his coat, hurriedly shucking it down over his shoulders.
“Are you getting naked?!” His partner gawked. The blonde fixed Wolfwood with an incredulous look, as if he would dare believe that Vash would do that. “No-god, why-nevermind,” Vash hissed as a bullet nicked his shoulder. “Come on, on the count of three, you run-get behind them!” Vash had to yell the last part, gunfire echoing so loudly around them that their ears rang. Wolfwood nodded, although to be honest he had no fucking idea what that meant. Their cover was disappearing, splintering to bits beneath the spray of bullets, and he was just ready to leave.
Vash, hunching, quickly lifted his fingers and counted down. Wolfwood’s muscles tensed.
Three, two, one.
He tightened, then sprang.
——-
In hindsight, Wolfwood should’ve known what Vash was cooking up in that needle-noggin of his. Another one of his dumb, spur-of-the-moment, no one gets hurt and Vash gets shot twelve times plans. He liked those plans. Wolfwood didn’t.
It had all whizzed by so fast, he could barely recall how it started in the first place.
When Vash reached three, he jerked his arm back, coat bundled up in his hand, and launched it out to the right side of the box. Immediately, a shower of gunfire enveloped it, giving Wolfwood enough cover to pop out from the other side. Brandishing The Punisher, He barreled straight into the enemy lines, laying down waves of gunfire before they could react.
Screams of pain rang out as people fell. But it wasn’t enough-shit- they were closing around on all sides. Nonetheless, Wolfwood kept swinging. he grunted in surprise as a bullet near-missed his head, taking out a bandit behind of him. Hefting the Punisher up, he swung it into a wide arc, connecting with the craniums of some unlucky fools. Sickening cracks rang out as they fell to the ground. So much for being peaceful.
Wolfwood chanced a look back to the alleyway. His companion was nowhere to be seen. Of course Vash stayed behind the box, he scoffed to himself. Asshole always makes me do all the dirty work.
He was forced out of his thoughts as the reality of the situation dawned. The mob had completely encircled him now, guns so close their muzzles were almost in his face. He couldn’t hold out for much longer. Gritting his teeth, he laid down as many bullets as he could, backing away from the alley where Vash still was, trying to draw them away.
He couldn’t keep doing this…using the Punisher’s rocket launcher would backfire in such a close-range situation, and there was no way he had enough ammo for every bastard rushing him right now.
He continued backing away into the street, but it seemed like as soon as a few people fell, three more took their place. Damn! Did everyone citizen in this city own a gun?
Suddenly-the shots ceased.
“Well, what do we have here?” Wolfwood glanced up, huffing in air as he swallowed down the dread in his throat.
“Just dropping into town for a few days…it’s not very nice to try and kill a man of the cloth, you know,” remarked the priest. He kept The Punisher raised at his shoulder as the glowering bandits encircled him.
“A man of the cloth?” Their leader barked out a gruff laugh. “Traveling with Vash the Stampede? Very holy. What, he hired you to follow him around and absolve his sins as he goes?” The bandits erupted in dry chuckles, their beady eyes still trained on the Undertaker.
Wolfwood steadily held the leader’s gaze under his sunglasses. More like so he could reprimand MY every sin, he lipped to himself. But apart from the fact that these people wanted to kill him, the more offensive fact to Wolfwood was that they wanted to kill Vash. Given the chance, he’d beat all these bastards bloody, damn what Tomgari himself thinks.
He swallowed down the bitterness in his throat and refocused. Pay attention, Nicholas. What’s your situation right now?
he gazed past the bandits, surveying. From his position, he couldn’t see the alleyway anymore, having backed up into the street a bit. He could run-sure-but there was no cover down either of the dusty streets to his sides. The priest in a breath. Goddamn it Vash, I hope you’re doing something back there.
“Well? Nothing to say, hm?” The leader grinned an unsightly smile. “Guess we’ll just have to kill you.”
“Wait, I-!” Words cut themselves off, turning to a strangled gasp. Nicholas felt his kneecap shatter.
Letting out a yowl, he sunk to the ground, Punisher baring down on his now fucked left side. He grunted in pain, barely glancing down as red started draining from his body and into the sand.
Not registering the yells of the ones in front of him, Wolfwood hoisted the Punisher back off the ground, clenching the trigger like a lifeline.
The next few moments swam by in a blur. One that, even days later, Nicholas would barely remember-sort of like those dreams you have when you’re half-awake.
His ears would still ring, though, from the shrieking of bullets ripping through the air, and phantom pain would tingle under the skin of his shoulder. it was ironic, really, because in the moment he didn’t feel it at all. His body had buckled backwards with the force of the blow, hitting the sand. His head was tipped up to the sky. Blood poured out of his shoulder, seeping into the sand below him.
Nicholas closes his eyes. He hopes he’s not having one of those moments where the almost-dead get flashbacks of their life. The only thing he really wants to see right now is Vash’s face, not some shitty replay of his wasted existence. The world around him became fuzzier and fuzzier, all sense leaving his body as all sound and sensation dulled to an ache in the background. He could throw up. He presses his lips together and feels nothing. Nicholas, untethered, floats away.
…..
His nose is itchy.
Small brown hands fist into cotton garments, clinging on. His face is buried in the fabric. After a second, he realizes the hands in front of him are his own. He watches them from behind a clouded veil, every movement like swimming through syrup.
Relief bloomed in his chest, so he leaned in more, nuzzling. A hand carded through his hair. He sighed, half-listening to whatever words she said that didn’t reach his ears. A pot was boiling.
His legs no longer felt too long for his body-just the perfect length to toddle along as the woman made her way across the kitchen. Soup, he imagined, would be ready soon.
………………………………
Wolfwood blinked.
At first, it seems he’s still in the kitchen. Nose pressed into the folds of Miss Melanie’s apron, taking in her scent, her softness. but then he feels the weight of The Punisher trapping his right arm, a detail his brain had pushed to the side previously.
Half-lidded eyes stammer open and look.
It’s the sky.
No man’s land has never seen a cloud?
Oh.
It’s Vash.
The only break from the perfect sea of white clouding his vision is the shadow of Vash’s silhouette. He’s strangely shaped, Wolfwood thinks deliriously, without the coat. The wings also look kind of odd.
they’re a far cry from angelic, ruffles of feathers mussed and out of place. They run in neat little patterns, he observes. One row after the other. Some of them stick out at odd angles. Interesting.
His outline is smaller-lesser-without the pompous red coat. Someone had pushed pause, suspending Vash’s figure in action as he dived across the scene. The shape of the wings thins and runs down to attach to his upper back, tapering off and connecting into scarred skin. Nicholas finally understood why Vash had that cutout in the back of his jumpsuit. He’s been hiding these the whole time?
They take up all of his vision, heavenly white, and he busies himself admiring him for what could be seconds, or could be hours. A feeling of tranquility washed over him, and he sighs.
Hell…now that he notices it, they look pretty neglected. Less like an Angel and more like a street pigeon. ruffled in places, some feathers a darker shade of gray than the chalky white. Rivulets of feathers ran in wild rows, sticking out at odd directions. Nicholas wasn’t a veterinarian, but he could sure tell that hurt.
His wings aren’t even completely white, Nicholas notes. Little bursts of scarlet appeared on Vash’s wings, stepping in time after each pull of a trigger.
He wonders. He wonders if it hurts, or maybe they’re just some kind of illusion he conjures from his body. Maybe he won’t actually take the hits. Because, well, he can just wish his wings away, right? There’s no way they could just be- invisible? Or something? Because then Vash wouldn’t be able to wear his coat…
……
Then, the moment ends.
Vash’s body hit the sand with a thump.
The dovelike masses protruding from his back writhe in the air, then, collapse to the ground. Wolfwood lunges up to his knees, gasping for air, vision rattling around his head, and cries out. The town is muted silent now, an eerie comparison to before.
His angel lays on his side, feathers splayed out behind him, unmoving. Unmoving. Vash isn’t moving.
(You failed.)
He sees Vash draw-grasping fingers fumble over his clip and onto the base of Peacebringer-
“Vash!” Gasps the priest. And he knows-it’s too late. They’ve seen him.
They’re on him ten times as fast-charging, hurling towards the fallen man and raining bullets, grasping hands grasping feathers jerking feathers away and bury bullets in his stomach. They got him they shot him he’s dead now you…Boot to his neck and oh god- Stop. Stopstopstop please now. Make it stop but don’t close your eyes, Nicholas; says Chapel.
Wolfwood can’t, he can’t watch anymore or make it stop so he runs.
Arms straining, pops himself up from the ground, knee throbbing and warmth gushing down his pant leg. Manages to get to his feet and darts down one of the side passages, away from the mob. Away from Vash. Away from it all. He can’t hear anything but his breath rattling around in his aching head.
Every step he takes is accompanied by a burst of pain from his leg. He stumbles. Everything in him screams to go back. Go back and drag Vash out of there and treat him how de deserves to be treated and bash in the skulls of those scumbags who-But that part comes after, he reminds himself.
He runs and runs till he doesn’t recognize where he is, having gone down a maze of sidestreets. He’s panting now, sweat dripping off his brow, and Wolfwood collapses.
The Punisher clangs jarringly to the ground beside him as he sinks down, legs finally giving out and splaying in front of him. He coughs, heaving up blood. Wolfwood swayed, fuzziness still tinging the edge of his vision. Before it could overtake him, he fished into his suit pocket. He found and popped a vial as quickly as possible, grimacing as the bitter liquid washed itself down.
Fuck. Why’d you have to go and do that, Needle-Noggin? His head swam with the realization. Based on his experience, he knew Vash would throw himself in front of a bullet for basically anyone. But a little voice told him, nudged him, you’re special. Took out his wings for you. Wolfwood quickly turned his attention elsewhere.
As much as he was with Vash-as much as they traveled together and bled together and held eachother in the same bed, he still felt…incredulous. There was no way Vash was for real about all that, was he? As much was Nicholas himself liked to believe it in the more…tender…moments, a part of him just couldn’t accept it. It’s a temporary arrangement, he reminds himself. All this would be over as soon as he delivered Vash to his brother. But that very thought sent another pang of shame through him. Wolfwood winced.
At one point in the healing process, the guilt had overtaken the pain, and now it blossomed through Wolfwood’s chest, infesting him, crawling through his bones. It made his limbs feel gross-heavy. Vash could always find a way to do that to him- make him feel things he rarely did.
Nicholas was going to kill him.
If he isn’t already dead, a helpful inner voice supplied.
Nicholas smacked a palm over his face. He dug a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it, trying to think.
The reporter girls had split off from them iles ago to visit another town, leaving him without transportation or backup. The way that mob was moving, they’d have Vash halfway across No Man’s land before Nicholas could even finish healing. “Damn,” he grumbled, slowly pushing himself to his feet.
The last of the steam was curling off him and his ruined suit. Turning his gaze back to the direction he came from, Wolfwood strapped The Punisher to his shoulder. Without a single look back, he began to run.
I’m coming, Spikey.