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Chapter Text

Where must we go…

We who wander this wasteland, 

in search of our better selves? 

- the First History of Man

•••

Cars break down. So do humans. 

It's harder to break a vampire down. 

Not impossible, though, definitely not impossible, especially if the vampire in question is stranded out in the middle of the desert with a useless, broken down car when the suns rise. 

Vash kicks the front tire with a sigh, shoulders slumping as he pulls his coat collar up around his ears, frowning as he pops the hood. He doesn't know cars, but he figures it's probably a bad sign when the engine block starts smoking. 

"Shit," he proclaims as he checks his watch, gazing out over the horizon at the flat, endless expanse of desert. "Shit." 

The sky is an inky purple color, stretching on forever, innumerable stars scattered across the void in every direction. The moons are low, too low for comfort, and sunrise is coming. 

Vash tries one more time to turn something in the engine - Until it throws sparks, and he barely makes it behind a nearby boulder with his bag before the whole block explodes and the car goes up in flames. 

"Why does this shit always happen to me?!" Vash whines out loud to the stars, but nothing answers him except the sound of the wind. 

He checks his watch again. Force of habit, really, since there's something inside him that simply knows when the suns will rise and ruin his night - Some primal feeling inside him he's had ever since he opened his eyes for the first time as a child. 

Sunsense, Knives had named it. Said it was a self-preservation instinct, an inborn sixth sense marking them as truly the next step in human evolution, the only path forward. 

As Vash shoulders his bag and begins to jog away from the burning car, away from the horizon, he wonders, not for the first time, how exactly he's supposed to be the future of humanity when he's never even been human. 

He and Knives were the First, they'd been told - But Vash knew now that was just a pretty story. Being told they were truly the First ever... No, they were just the first to survive. That was something he refused to let himself think about even now.

They'd been told they marked a new page being turned over, a solution to humanity dying out on barren worlds. Stronger, faster, immune to disease and the ravages of time, not even requiring food or water to sustain themselves. The passing along of their condition through sharing their blood was the perfect solution to the slow extinction of humankind, two species living in perfect symbiosis to create a better world.

Vash is breathing hard now from panic as his steps lengthen, running from time as he searches for shelter in the wasteland. He hasn't thought about his past, Knives, his childhood in years - But being faced with his potentially inevitable death has a way of bringing everything to the surface, he supposes.

He thinks Knives would chide him for breathing, for running like a human, instead of letting the power lying dormant in his veins rush to the surface and truly fly across the sand, fast as lightning. He's tempted, for a moment, to just let go and let his power free, if for no other reason than to delay his own destruction. But he's half-starved as it is, the thermoses of blood he'd gotten back at the last outpost bone-dry in his bag, his gums aching from hunger. He'd rather see the suns one last time and get blasted to a chalk outline on the sand than overexert himself and give in to the Beast that's lurking just below his skin, always threatening to claw its way free if he ever gets too hungry, too lax. 

He refuses to let it. Refuses to give himself over to that savage, primal instinct that Knives used to embrace willingly. If he's going to finally kick it, alone out here in God knows where, he's going to do it with his morals intact, dammit - 

"Oh thank God," Vash nearly sobs as the abandoned gas station comes into view as he crests a hill, and he doesn't even care how the name of God burns his throat.

He nearly trips and almost rolls down the hill halfway, scrambling to his feet and pushing himself into a sprint as he nears the station. His sunsense is absolutely screaming at him, and he doesn't dare turn to face the horizon as the sky behind him slowly fades from purple to pink. There's a huge cross with an eye in the center spray painted on the wall of the station but Vash is in such dire straits he doesn't even give it a passing thought. 

By the time he kicks in the back door of the station his clothes are smoking. There's an old chest freezer against the far wall and Vash closes the distance in a single leap, throwing the lid open and collapsing inside just as the first bright rays of the morning suns stream through the broken windows of the station. 

"This could be worse," Vash's voice echoes against the cramped metal of the freezer as he squirms to try and make himself comfortable, his gangly, leanly muscled frame folded up like origami inside the tiny box. "Somehow..." 

He's slept in much worse places. 

Twelve hours wedged into a freezer won't kill him. 

••• 

Vash spends the day drifting in and out of a listless twilight sleep, dreams full of sharp teeth and blood and blue eyes in a face that looks like his but isn't his and claws digging into his skin as he's dragged back into the darkness, swallowed whole by massive jaws - 

He wakes with a start at the purr of a motorcycle engine somewhere very close by. 

He checks his watch instinctively, the faint white glow of the patterns on the skin of his arm lighting up the cracked face. It's a little after sunset, at least, but the fact that he's starting to fucking glow is proof he needs to eat - And soon.

But right now he has more pressing issues to deal with, like getting out of the freezer, dealing with the driver of the motorcycle, and trying to shake some feeling back into his extremities after twelve hours of being contorted like a circus act. 

Maybe not necessarily in that order, though. 

Vash pulls his coat sleeve down over his organic arm to hide the markings, shifting to climb on top of the freezer and peek out the tiny window above it. 

There's a figure leaning against the motorcycle outside, silhouette tall and broad against the lengthening shadows of the night. Vash spies the cherry red tip of a cigarette in his fingers and squints his eyes, trying to bring him further into focus as he blinks sleep away. The man's stance is casual, nonthreatening - Maybe just another traveler looking for a pit stop? Vash opens his mouth to call out a greeting, then freezes as the wind shifts and the smell hits him like an open palm to the face.

Holy water. 

The man is full of holy water, dosed up to his eyeballs from the smell of it. Vash has never exactly figured out what exactly is in the shit the Church makes the Eyes of Michael, an order of their most elite hunter-priests, drink to ward their blood against vampires, only that it's toxic as hell and acts as some sort of physical stimulant and regenerative. The fact that they call it holy water is the religious man's version of irony, if he has to guess.

One mouthful of it is enough to kill a fledgling vampire on the spot. Vash has gotten a bag of poisoned blood before, and while it didn't kill him, he certainly wasn't having a fun time for the next few days. This priest is someone he would like to avoid, ideally. 

Vash slowly unfolds his legs from the top of the freezer, preparing to climb down silently, when the man's voice roots him to the spot. 

"I know you're in there." 

Vash swallows hard, another distinctly human habit. Knives would be so annoyed at him right now. 

"I'm prepared to burn this place to the ground to smoke you out. We gonna do it the easy way, or the hard way?" 

Vash doesn't answer, rooted to the spot as his eyes frantically search the gas station for some kind of easy out, any way out. 

"Believe me, I'd love to hear you pick the hard way." 

The man's voice is deep, raspy and rough, and there's a mocking edge to it that raises the hair on the back of Vash's neck. Vash may be a vampire, but this man? 

This man is a predator. 

"I would love the easy way, actually," Vash manages with a manic giggle escaping his throat at the ridiculousness of the situation. He manages to outrun the suns, just to waltz right into the loving arms of a fucking Eye. "But, um, how do I know you won't just shoot me the second I walk out the door?" 

There's silence as Vash quietly picks his way through the gas station, one hand on his gun in its thigh holster. Dosed up priests are tougher than your run-of-the-mill unsanctioned hunters - He's seen some take a full clip and keep on swinging the stake. He'd never shoot to kill, but they're almost harder to simply disable...

"You don't." The man laughs, no humor in it, all flames and razor wire. 

"Then I don't really see anything in this for me," Vash calls, slowly drawing his gun and tightening his hands around the grip, finger pointing straight rather than instantly curving around the trigger. "You've really got me between a rock and a hard place here. Stay in here and I burn to death. Come out there and you empty your mag in me." 

The priest doesn't know that just plain fire or bullets won't be enough to put him down, either. That's plenty for a younger vampire, the newer generations roaming the shadows of the wasteland, but Vash? Vash is the First. He's taken stakes through the chest and lived to see another night - The metal grate over his heart is proof enough of that. 

"Yeah, you got the right of it." Outside, Vash's hearing picks up the sound of sand shifting under shoes, footsteps crossing the lot. "This really don't end well for you no matter what you do, Millions Knives."

"Why don't I just come out with my hands up and we can -" Vash stops as the priest's words finally catch up to his mouth, freezing on the spot. "Wait, what did you just call me?" 

Vash is still processing when the priest kicks in the side door, the shiny barrel of the enormous cross-shaped gun he carries entering before he does. 

"Surprised? You should have expected we'd find you, being this sloppy. You didn't even burn the car properly." 

Shit.

He thinks he's Knives.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, is all Vash can think as he dives towards the floor, hitting the ground faster than the eye can process as rounds of machine gun fire destroy the wall he was just pressed against. 

"Hey! Stop -" Vash rolls to the side and covers his head as the priest advances further into the station, laughing as bullets tear through the shelves like paper. "Stop fucking shooting at me!" 

Vash cries out as a stray bullet clips his arm, wincing as the wound sluggishly seals back up under his palm, another searing across his scalp. He's wasting blood he doesn't have with this, dodging and healing, and he can feel the Beast in the back of his mind clawing and screaming to be set free, to deal with this. 

"I'm not Knives!" Vash yells at the top of his lungs, projecting his voice over the deafening gunfire as he leaps out from behind the counter, hands held up in surrender. "I'm Vash! Vash the S -" 

The priest empties the last of his clip into his torso.

"Ow," Vash croaks, collapsing to the ground in a pile of rubble. 

The priest frowns as he powers down the smoking machine gun, slowly striding over to Vash's crumpled form. Vash tries to squirm away, organic arm curled around his waist as he claws his prosthetic against the ground, dragging his body to prop against the counter.

"How are you still kicking?" The priest sounds almost amazed, coming to a stop in front of him, kicking Vash in the leg like he's a particularly interesting piece of roadkill.

"Ow," Vash whispers, the word turning into a groan as he coughs up blood, head falling back against the counter, lolling to one side. 

It hurts. It always fucking hurts to get shot, but it especially hurts right now because of how starved he is and how hard he's fighting to keep the Beast in check. It screams to be let out, to rip and tear and destroy, just like it did during the July Incident. 

"They said you weren't like the others," The priest mumbles, using the barrel of his handgun to push Vash's destroyed coat down his shoulder, exposing skin that's now alight with the glow of his vampiric markings. "That you were different because you were the first. Because you were Cain." 

Vash grimaces at that, nudging the priest's gun away, fingers curling weakly around the barrel in as much protest as he can muster.

Cain is what the Church call Knives. A fugitive and a wanderer. The first son of Adam, who killed his own brother in a fit of jealous rage. 

"I'm. Not. Him," Vash strains, voice ragged from exhaustion and the pain of hunger. "I'm - Abel." 

The last thing he sees before forcing himself to pass out to keep the priest safe from the Beast is the look of shock and disbelief on his face. 

••• 

Vash doesn't expect to wake up. 

So when he comes to, organic arm handcuffed to a motel bed headboard, an IV in his arm attached to a bag of blood hanging off the bedside lamp, he's - 

Confusion doesn't begin to cover it. 

"What the fuck," Vash murmurs weakly, struggling to sit up. 

He jolts in alarm when he sees the priest sitting across the room from him, teeth clenched hard around a cigarette, a gun pointed directly at him. 

"Start fuckin' talkin'. How do you know that name?" 

Vash blinks hard, shaking his head to try and clear the grogginess from his mind. He looks down at himself, slowly - He's still in the clothes he was wearing at the gas station - black pants, tall boots - minus shirt and coat. His torso is covered in newly healed and rapidly scarring gunshot wounds, and he does a double take between his injuries and the IV. 

"I thought you were trying to kill me, not keep me alive," Vash manages after a period of stupefaction. It hurts to talk with how dry his throat is, full of dust and ash from the station. "But I'm not complaining. Thank you." 

The priest actually looks taken aback at that, shifting in his seat, frown growing deeper. 

"I'm not interested in whatever game you're tryin' to play. Answer my questions or I'll rip out that IV, douse you in gasoline, and light you up." 

"Wow," Vash croaks, finally having managed to sit up against the headboard, resting his head back on the wall. "Are you always this mean to people whose lives you save?" 

The priest clenches his teeth so hard Vash thinks he may bite his cigarette in half.

"Answer my fuckin' question. Now." 

Vash bites his lip, rubbing his wrist under the handcuff. He could snap the metal easy as breathing, even with the holy symbols burnt into the cuff - But he doesn't, dropping his hand back to his lap instead. 

"I don't really know how to elaborate on what I already said. You've got the wrong guy. I'm Vash - Abel, I guess, to your Church." Vash shrugs, fingers picking at a frayed edge of the motel blanket. "I'm not who you're looking for." 

The priest growls at that, standing up from his chair so fast Vash recoils back against the headboard in surprise. 

"Vash the Stampede is dead. He died when him and his bastard brother orchestrated the July Incident twenty years ago. He died right alongside two hundred thousand innocent civilians." 

Vash flinches as if he's been struck. 

"No, I - I didn't - I didn't mean to -" Vash's voice rises, a little too quickly. His head feels light, his skin too tight. He's breathing hard and fast like a cornered rabbit, fingers clutching the blanket so tight he rips it in half, but he barely notices. "I didn't mean to do that. Please. I don't remember - I don't remember anything but I didn't do it on purpose, I would never - I'm so sorry -" 

The cuff snaps from the headboard from how hard Vash is straining to get away. What he's getting away from, he isn't sure - Himself? His past mistakes? 

The priest drops his handgun and lunges for his cross, clearly anticipating an attack. But Vash just curls in on himself, burying his face in his hands.

Thinking about July always hurts. But it hasn't hurt like this in a long time. Maybe it's the chaos of the past few days, maybe it's all the thoughts still swirling in his head from his sprint to find safety after his car died - Maybe everything's just been perfectly designed to turn into a perfect storm of regret and pain. 

Vash wants to sink into the floor and sleep for the next week. He doesn't want to be here, crying tears of blood into his hands in front of a priest who probably thinks he was just trying to do the right thing in ridding the world of another bloodthirsty vampire.  

"I'm sorry," Vash chokes out, face tilting up towards the priest, and it feels like a confession in the eyes of God when he says it.

He doesn't deserve confession. Confession is for those seeking absolution, and he's past absolution for what he's done. But atonement? Humanity deserves atonement for his wrong. That much he can do, even if there's only one human here to witness it.

The priest blinks, lowering his cross all the way back down to the floor. There's a look of utter bafflement on his face, the cigarette having fallen unlit to the stained motel carpet in the chaos of him going for his gun. He blinks a few times as he clearly takes in the tear tracks of blood running down Vash's face, staining his skin and the sheets around him.

"Are you tellin' me you're Vash the Stampede? You've been alive this entire fuckin' time?" The priest demands, voice raising to hide the furious tremor in his words.

Vash looks away then, grabbing the bit of blanket he'd torn and using it to wipe his face, trying to get as much of the blood off as he can, swallowing hard to center himself again. 

"Yes," he finally answers in a small voice, hand curling around the bloody scrap of fabric. And because he figures the priest is going to ask, he continues. "Everyone assumed I had died in the explosion. I... I never contradicted that, because... Well, why would I?" 

Vash looks down at his lap, tearing the fabric in his hands to small strips, just for something to focus on. Anything that isn't the pounding of the priest's heart, the angry sound of his breath. 

"The humans - They call me the Typhoon because they think I'm a monster, so it's better if they think I'm dead. They can sleep a little easier at night." his voice drops into a whisper, fist softly clenching around the ruined scraps in his palm. "The Church wanted me to burn, so thinking I'm dead obviously helped me get by easier. Hunters just think I'm a normal vampire. The only threat that knows -" 

Vash stops, gaze shifting from his lap up to the priest, and he startles to find him staring right back at him. His expression is stony, eyebrows furrowed and mouth set into a thin line - But he's listening, taking him seriously, and not taking his eyes off him for a second. 

"The only threat that knows is Knives. He - He's usually the one to send the hunters, hired through an intermediary, I think. They don't know any better..." Vash trails off, biting his lip, feeling his fangs worrying at the dry skin. 

The priest exhales hard, drawing up to his full height and crossing his arms over his broad chest, frowning down at Vash on the bed. Vash suddenly feels very small in his gaze, like prey being sized up by a wolf, determining if he's worth the effort to eat or not. 

"Why is your brother sendin' hunters after you?" The priest asks after a time, not taking his eyes off Vash. 

Vash doesn't answer, but he's the first to break their shared gaze as his eyes dart back down to his lap, where his joined hands are wringing together anxiously. 

"Does it really matter?" Vash shrugs, fingers tangling together as he looks back up at the priest, eyes wide, pleading with him to believe him. To see. "I'm not like him. I don't -" 

Vash stops, fingers ghosting over the IV in his arm, thumb running up the tubing, watching the blood move sluggishly into his veins for a moment. 

"I don't hurt people," he whispers. 

"Bullshit," the priest practically spits at him, scoffing as he rolls his eyes. "You're a vampire. You're the vampire. All you do is hurt people." 

"I don't!" Vash's voice shakes as it raises an objection, glaring at the priest with righteous fury in his eyes. 

"I've never hurt someone of my own free will and I never will. As long as I live I will do everything in my power to protect you, and every other human. The world is a beautiful place," Vash's voice breaks as he feels tears threaten the corners of his eyes again. "It's made for love and peace. That's what I want for you. For all of you - A chance to live to experience that." 

The priest is gaping openly at him.

There's silence between them for so long Vash wonders if he's ever going to speak again.

Vash sniffles a little, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and ignoring the blood trail his tears leave on his skin. He feels brittle and overheated, like he's been dunked under hot water and scrubbed too hard with steel wool. He can't remember the last time he broke down like this - And he's certainly never done it in front of a hunter. 

Every nerve ending in his body just feels raw, exposed, and he's so, so tired. 

"Is it alright if I go to sleep now?" Vash asks in a quiet voice, slowly rising from the bed and unhooking the IV from his arm, wrapping himself in the bloodstained blanket. "It's been a very long night." 

His voice is so quiet he wonders if the priest can hear him. 

The priest doesn't respond, still standing there staring at him like he's a wild animal that's somehow found its way into his motel room. 

Vash supposes that in a way, he is.

"I'll use the tub. Just - Don't open the door after the suns rise, please." Vash nods as he slowly shuffles past the priest to the windowless bathroom, nudging the door closed behind him with his foot. 

He doesn't lock it. 

He just climbs into the bathtub and curls up against the cold porcelain, eyes drifting shut as he huddles in the thin blanket. 

The priest's face swims behind his eyes as he falls into a deep, exhausted sleep. 

His dreams are full of crosses and fire.

Chapter Text

The priest's name is Nicholas D. Wolfwood, Vash finds out their first morning in each other's company.

After that first night, when Wolfwood had shook off the worst of the shock, he had endless questions for Vash. Vash answered them all readily as he could, though he tried his best to tactfully redirect any questioning about Knives and eventually Wolfwood dropped that line of thought. 

"So you really don't feed on people?" Wolfwood can't seem to wrap his head around that one, and he lights another cigarette with anxious energy, his movements nervy and aggressive. "Ever?" 

"I already told you I don't," Vash laughs, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Ever."

He feels more at ease now that Wolfwood has accepted his metaphorical olive branch. For now, at least, this cramped motel room with the pullout bed shoved up against the window to block out the suns is neutral ground. 

"I eat just like how you fed me when you brought me back here and saved me," Vash's head tilts to the side, his eyes softening as he looks over how tense Wolfwood gets whenever he mentions that. "Though I pour the bags into a thermos and drink out of those. It's too much trouble to hook up an IV on the go." 

He's still trying to wrap his mind around Wolfwood. He recognizes the name now that he's heard it, he'd be stupid not to - They call him the Punisher. Some of the fledglings who've lost friends to him call him the Undertaker or the Reaper.

Intimidating, appropriate names for the hunter that stalked him through the abandoned gas station last night, but Vash is having trouble fitting the words onto the man now as he hunches over on the edge of the bed chain-smoking. 

"But how do you get it? The blood? People don't just... Give up their blood." Wolfwood frowns, his glare fixating on Vash, who's standing as far away from the priest as he can get, for civility's sake. 

"I mean, they kind of do?" Vash's eyebrow cocks up behind his sunglasses - He may be safe from the suns thanks to the bed in the window, but his eyes are always achy and sore and sensitive to any sort of light during the day, even artificial.

"Blood banks exist. I buy from there..." Vash trails off, suddenly very interested in the worn fibers of the carpet.

Logically, he knows using blood banks are the least damaging way he can eat. No one is hurt, it's all voluntary, and he can even purchase it instead of stealing it. The whole thing isn't strictly legal, really, but since when has anyone ever cared about operating to the letter of the law on No Man's Land? 

But he still feels guilt weigh on him that he's taking blood from a human who may need it to save their life. 

That alone is reason why his hunger never truly goes away, why he's never able to fully access the true breadth of his powers - He's never fully satiated. He's always making himself a little smaller, eating a little less, to put less strain on the humans. To maybe save someone who he couldn't otherwise save, even if he doesn't know who they are. 

"And you have never hurt a human on purpose." Wolfwood's deep voice breaks him out of his reverie, and Vash snaps his gaze up to meet his, fangs dragging slightly over his lip in shame.

"I'd be lying if I said no - To defend myself if my life was threatened and I couldn't run away, sometimes I've had to hurt people." Vash swallows, crossing his arms tighter over his chest. "But I never shoot to kill. I always make sure whatever injury I leave is something they can come back from. I don't seek out violence, it just... Trouble seems to find me." 

Wolfwood looks mystified, like someone's just slapped him across the face several times in quick succession. Vash sees his dark eyes flicker to his fangs, and Wolfwood licks his lips quickly, mouth opening as if he wants to say something, but thinks better of it. 

"Have you ever - Bitten anyone?" Wolfwood's voice is hoarse now, catching on a lump in his throat. "Turned them?" 

Vash flinches then, so hard he jostles the desk he's leaning on, nearly sending the cheap lamp and ashtray into the floor. 

"I would never Turn someone! Not - Not unless -" Vash stops, pulling the sleeve of his coat down over his hand, refusing to meet Wolfwood's eyes. 

"Unless? So you would Turn someone?" 

"To save their life," Vash whispers, so soft his voice is barely audible to his own ears. "I'd never wish this life on anyone. But if they were dying... I couldn't sit there and watch someone die." 

He chances a glance at the priest, and their eyes meet - Dark brown locking onto light blue. Wolfwood is looking directly at him, not backing down, but there's fear in his eyes. It's not the kind of fear Vash is used to from a human meeting a vampire - The all-encompassing, irrational fear of prey face to face with predator. 

The fear staring back at him from Wolfwood's face is almost reverent in nature, almost awed. Wolfwood is looking at Vash like he's an avenging angel touched down in front of him, as if he's Saint Michael manifested into a dingy motel room. 

Like he's something divine that's been blackened and tarnished right before his eyes.

"If you're lying to me at all, I swear on God's name I'll kill you. If it's the last thing I do, I will kill you." Wolfwood murmurs, gaze still locked onto Vash, his previously frenetic movements where he sits completely stilled. 

Vash smiles at that, his eyes softening as he takes in the priest before him, looking every inch a warrior, armored only in oaths and beliefs.

"Good," Vash hums. 

••• 

Wolfwood reports back to the Church that the lead about Knives had been bad intel, and Cain was still nowhere to be found. 

Vash hadn't asked him to do so, but he's relieved that Wolfwood hadn't concocted some sort of lie to cover for him to his superiors. He doesn't want anything he does to reflect badly on anyone, much less a protector of the people. 

"What the hell did you just call me?" Wolfwood scoffs when he tells Vash about his report to the Church, claiming he'd been relaying the information to him solely so Vash would stop being so jumpy, expecting reinforcements to crash through the motel walls. 

"Do you not think of yourself as a protector?" Vash furrows his brows in confusion, pausing with his thermos halfway to his mouth.

They've been holed up in the same hotel room for the past few days. Wolfwood is unable to leave until the Church signs off on his mission report.

The town they're in is absolutely crawling with hunters after Wolfwood's stunt at the gas station, all clamboring for a piece of any vampire remaining to take back to the Church for a bounty. It's not safe for Vash to stay in one place too long, but neither can he move on so quickly after causing such a scene - Best to lay low until it all blows over, so he's stuck here, too. 

"I - What's it to you, Blondie?" Wolfwood scowls, stuffing a handful of fries from his fast food bag into his mouth. 

Vash blinks, shrugging as he takes a little sip from his thermos. Wolfwood had managed to procure him more blood than he'd had in months thanks to his contacts in the Church - Apparently priests needing bagged blood for rituals to cleanse and purify vampiric energies isn't all that weird, and though Vash is curious about the logic of using blood to drive away vampires he knows better than to ask. 

It was kind of Wolfwood to go to the trouble for him, even though he snapped that he only did it so Vash wouldn't go feral and start eating the townspeople when he thanked him. 

Vash is quickly learning he's a little funny that way.

••• 

"What are you goin' to do after this?" Wolfwood asks him one night, about a week into their stay. 

Vash hasn't left the motel room in three nights, and he's nearly crawling up the walls with nervous energy, but Wolfwood's question roots him to the spot on the faded carpet. 

"The same thing I always do..." Vash trails off, rubbing his crossed arms like he's capable of feeling anything but cold. 

"Which is...?" Wolfwood snaps, setting the gun he's been meticulously cleaning onto the table with a clatter. 

"Just meander, I guess?" Vash gives a little tight smile, hands curling around his upper arms as he shrugs, eyes drifting up from the peeling paint on the walls to meet Wolfwood's.

"'So now you are cursed from the ground, which has opened its mouth to receive your brother’s blood from your hand. A fugitive and a wanderer you shall be upon the earth.'”

Vash's voice is soft as he recites the Bible verse. His markings flare to life as he speaks, glowing so brightly and so painfully that Vash feels the skin around them sizzle, instantly repair itself, then burn again - An ouroboros of holy fire, seared into his soul.

"Genesis 4:11-12," Wolfwood responds after a period of shocked silence, his voice frayed at the edges, his eyes wide in disbelief. "You - Your kind can't recite scripture. I've seen fledglings dusted just from hearin' the Lord's Prayer too close to sunrise." 

Vash smiles again, lowering himself into the chair across the table from Wolfwood, rubbing a palm across his shoulder as his markings slowly dim, wincing a little as the pain recedes.

"'The Lord is my Shepard, I shall not want,'" Vash quotes, not even flinching at the bright corona of agony that flares within him for a briefest second. 

Wolfwood is staring at him, and there's that look in his eyes again. That look he gave him the first night they met, that sharp edge between horror and awe. His lips move, no sound coming out, his mouth forming the words of a prayer in Old Latin. 

"What are you?" Wolfwood manages in a cracked whisper.

He doesn't sound disgusted. He doesn't sound scared. He doesn't even sound angry. He just sounds - 

Awestruck. Like he's still praying. Like Gabriel himself is sitting across from him in that shitty folding chair instead of a lanky blonde in a beat-up red coat.

"I'm nobody," he responds, eyes crinkling up from the warm smile he gives the priest across from him. "I'm just Vash."

••• 

The Church gets back to Wolfwood the next day, with just a plainly worded message to head out into the deep desert where they had good intel about a vampire nest. 

They've finally checked out of the motel, and Wolfwood is doing one last check-up of his bike before he heads into the badlands.

"So this is it, I guess," Vash adjusts the strap of his leather messenger bag around him, his thermoses full of fresh blood, courtesy of the priest. "It was really nice to get to know you, Wolfwood." 

The sincerity in his voice surprises even him. Wolfwood is thoroughly unpleasant to be around - Abrasive, rude, aggressive, impulsive, with a tendency towards the lecherous - but Vash has grown fond of him all the same. His personality is so at odds with his principles, and he's utterly devoted to his cause. 

Vash admires him, he's realized. He admires his fire and his bite. He can tell there's something lurking under the surface, something dark and heavy and personal prowling behind his flames like a caged animal, because Vash recognizes the same thing within himself. 

But Wolfwood carries it so differently - Vash keeps his Beast locked up tight, never to see the light of the moons again. Wolfwood isn't afraid to let his out, and Vash suspects he doesn't care if it mauls him in the process. 

"Yeah, whatever," Wolfwood mutters as he slams the gas cap on the bike closed with more force than strictly necessary.

Vash laughs a little at his response, face softening as Wolfwood swings his legs over the bike, glancing over his shoulder at him. There's something unreadable in his eyes - Vash can feel how hard his heart is beating, hear the blood rushing through his veins as it pounds faster. He furrows his brows, tilting his head as he meets Wolfwood's eyes. 

"Is everything okay?" Vash frowns, and notices how Wolfwood's hands tighten on the handlebars, clearly having noticed Vash's senses picking up on the rhythms of his body.

"I'm just waitin' for your dumb ass to get on the bike," Wolfwood clenches his teeth, one foot knocking the kickstand back into place. "We're burnin' moonlight here. You just gonna stand around and make cow eyes at me all day like an idiot?" 

Vash blinks then, so caught off guard he nearly looks around to make sure Wolfwood is actually speaking to him. 

"You - You want me to come with you?" Vash can't hide the edge that crawls into his voice - Hope, squirming out of the nearly-empty box locked away inside the deepest corner of his chest. 

"Get on the bike and don't make me repeat myself," Wolfwood growls this time, grip so tight on the handlebars the dark skin of his knuckles has gone white. 

"Okay," Vash responds happily, not even bothering to hide the wide smile splitting his face. "Thank you, Wolfwood..." 

Wolfwood grunts and spits into the parking lot, adjusting his position and shifting the Punisher strapped to his back so Vash can slot onto the bike behind him. 

"Yeah, whatever," Wolfwood repeats, revving the engine. "If you're just gonna keep wanderin' around No Man's Land like a lost fuckin' puppy I'm just gonna keep getting false leads from the Church on you. Chasin' you around creation's just gonna interfere with my real work." 

Vash just keeps smiling, wrapping his arms around Wolfwood's broad waist, propping his cheek against the expanse of the wrapped Punisher against his back. 

"Thank you," he repeats himself, and Wolfwood doesn't answer this time, merely scoffing under his breath as he peels out of the parking lot into the night, tearing off into the direction of the badlands. 

Chapter Text

"I take it you're still not talkin' to me," Wolfwood drawls from behind the paper he's reading, feet kicked up on the booth seat beside Vash. 

Vash's frown deepens and he crosses his arms tighter over his chest, organic fingers digging into the metal of his prosthetic. 

"No," he says after a while of squirming in the silence, eyes fixated on the chipped table of the twenty-four hour diner.

"Oh, come off it, Blondie, seriously," Wolfwood sighs in exasperation, slamming the paper down onto the table so hard it makes Vash jump. "He was going to rip your throat out with his fuckin' teeth -" 

"It wouldn't have killed me," Vash protests, and they both fall right back into the same argument they've been having for the past two days. 

Wolfwood and Vash have been hunting together for nearly six months now - Though hunting may not exactly be the right word now that Vash is involved. Wolfwood is always prepared to stake first, questions never, and Vash has to fight tooth and nail to let him try and talk things out with the marks before he shoves a railroad spike through their chests. 

Vash isn't deluding himself into thinking all the vampires Wolfwood hunts are innocent. But they were all human once - None of them chose this. For most, it was forced upon them unwillingly, if not by Knives himself on his twisted quest to eradicate humanity as anything but a food source, then by someone who knew someone who knew someone who was Turned by him. 

They were people, too, and deserve a second chance. He always tries talking to them. Wolfwood always relents after a period of raised voices and curses, but he stays close behind Vash, gun at the ready in case something goes wrong. Vash is sometimes able to talk the vampires down, guide them onto a better path. 

Sometimes. Not all the time. His failures haunt the edges of his dreams, taunting him for his inadequacy. 

"I don't care if it wouldn't have killed you!" Wolfwood's fury brings Vash back to the present, whisper-shouting in the all but abandoned diner. "You think I'm just gonna sit back and twiddle my thumbs and watch some bloodlust-crazed vamp grind you up like meat?" 

"Yes," Vash challenges, clenched fists falling to the table in front of him. "I'll heal eventually. The others aren't as strong as me... You didn't have to shoot him. He was just scared -" 

"He was completely overtaken by the Beast! There was nothing left! Or were you too blinded by your fuckin' idealism to see that?" 

Wolfwood is really shouting now, and that finally brings the nervous looking waitress over, her mouth opening to no doubt ask them to keep it down or take it outside. 

"Keep the change," Wolfwood growls to her, slamming the money for their bill down on the table as he storms out the door towards the bike.

Any other night Vash would have risen to the gauntlet Wolfwood's thrown down, and they'd have argued back and forth for hours, neither agreeing to compromise. But tonight - Vash is tired. He's just... He's just really tired.

"I'm so sorry," Vash murmurs to the waitress as he scrambles up out of the booth, jogging out of the diner after him. 

"Wolfwood! Wait!" Vash catches up to him in a heartbeat - Even without using his supernatural celerity, vampires are just fast. 

"Wolfwood..." he swallows hard, reaching out to catch Wolfwood's arm, ignoring the way the priest tenses up like a bowstring at his touch. "I just -" 

Wolfwood stands with his back to him, staring up at the blank faces of the moons in the night sky, but he doesn't pull his hand away. 

"I just want to help them, you know that," Vash's voice drops to a whisper, thick with emotion. "That's all I want." 

His fingers trail down Wolfwood's wrist, hesitating on the back of his hand. He wants to link their fingers together, wants to feel Wolfwood's pulse against his skin, wants to tell him how much - 

"Don't it matter what I want too?" Wolfwood's words are knives flung directly into Vash's chest, and he finally turns to face him. 

"Oh, Wolfwood, of course it matters -"

"I hate watchin' you go in there when you know they're just waiting to rip you apart. It doesn't matter you're 'their kind', Blondie, don't you see that? You're a threat, an unknown, to them and the humans. The fledglings will go after you just as hard as the hunters will if you don't go along with their depraved lifestyle. I don't want to see you keep gettin' hurt." 

"They don't know any better..." Vash argues softly, but Wolfwood's words are still wrapped around him like a warm blanket. 

I don't want to see you keep getting hurt. 

"It's not your responsibility to force them to be good people," Wolfwood's tone is imploring as his big hands wrap around Vash's shoulders, gripping him tight and anchoring him down to reality. "That shouldn't be all on you." 

Vash's eyes drift from the endless sea of stars above them to Wolfwood's face, and he smiles, eyes crinkling up a little behind the sunglasses he's still wearing. 

"I don't mind that it is," Vash responds quietly, reaching out his organic hand to softly touch Wolfwood's face, fingers drifting over a fresh cut on his cheekbone. 

"Wolfwood..." Vash says his name as if it's a scripture. 

Something flashes in Wolfwood's eyes, his hands tightening minutely on Vash's shoulders as his gaze drops to his lips, lingering on his mouth. For just a moment, Wolfwood's eyes spark with a want so intense Vash feels like he could go up in flames. 

"You're gonna be the death of me, Blondie," Wolfwood rasps, pushing Vash away gentler than Vash ever thought he could be before he stalks over to the bike. 

Vash can see his hands shaking as he guns the engine, but he climbs on behind him wordlessly, closing his eyes and pressing his cheek onto Wolfwood's shoulder. 

If Wolfwood is a holy fire, then maybe Vash doesn't mind getting a little burned. 

••• 

"Don't it bother you?" Wolfwood asks him finally, one night. 

Vash looks up from where hes been focused on cleaning the wound on Wolfwood's back, claw marks from an overconfident fledgling who had tried to get the drop on him from behind. 

"Does what bother me?" Vash questions as he presses a warm cloth to the deep cuts, knuckles of his prosthetic running up Wolfwood's spine to soothe him when he hears his faint hiss of pain. 

"My... Blood," Wolfwood shifts, fist curling against the fabric of the blanket under them. "You never let me heal up the easy way, always insist on doin' it yourself, I can't imagine it's exactly fun for you -" 

Vash cuts him off with the metal of his prosthetic palm pressing into the small of Wolfwood's back, the cold metal making the priest swear and arch his spine to get away. 

"First off, downing holy water every time you're injured is not 'the easy way'. That stuff is dangerous, you know that. You shouldn't take it unless your life is on the line..." Vash frowns, opening the small first aid kit he keeps in his pack and pulling out the needle and thread. "...And second, no, it doesn't bother me." 

Vash shrugs as he uses one of his fangs to guide the catgut into the tiny eye of the needle, pulling the thread taut around the sharp tooth as he begins to sew Wolfwood's cuts shut, prosthetic hand bracing his back comfortingly. 

"You need help. You're -" Vash hesitates, the words 'you're my friend' hanging off his tongue like drops of blood. 

Vash thinks of Wolfwood as his friend. He's special to him, the first person in a long time to be special to him. He likes to think Wolfwood cares about him too, maybe - In the way he tries to keep him from getting hurt, makes sure he always has enough blood, double and triple checks the windows of his motel room for any cracks that could let the sunlight in.

But nothing can change the fact that Vash is a vampire and Wolfwood is a hunter. To Vash, it doesn't matter what Wolfwood is - He likes him no matter what, thinks he's a good person no matter what. 

Wolfwood is hard to read. Vash always sees the best in him. But Wolfwood still hunts monsters. 

Maybe he sees Vash as one too.

"You're... Hurting, and I can help you," Vash hums instead, swallowing the words he really wants to say back down like a mouthful of blood. "I'm not going to fall into a frenzy just because I'm stitching you up," Vash laughs, tying off a stitch and moving on to the next cut.

Wolfwood shifts at that, scooping his jacket off the floor to retrieve his cigarettes from the pocket, lighting one as still as he can so Vash isn't disturbed. 

"You're not even bothered by the smell?" 

Vash raises an eyebrow, a smile growing on his face, though he knows Wolfwood can't see him. "Are you asking if I think you smell bad?" 

Wolfwood tenses so hard at that Vash nearly stabs him with the needle unnecessarily, and Vash laughs, tying off the last stitch quickly before Wolfwood can cause any more damage to himself. 

"You're always fuckin' around, twistin' my words -" Wolfwood scowls, but Vash just laughs again, positioning a soft gauze pad over Wolfwood's injury and breaking out the medical tape. 

Vash wraps his arms around Wolfwood, and ignores the way he tenses, the way he hears his heartbeat speed up as he binds the gauze to his shoulder, under his arm, across his chest so the injury is protected. 

He slots his chin over Wolfwood's uninjured shoulder after he's done, arms staying loose around his waist. It's not the first time they've been this close - Vash is open with his affection, always throwing his arms around Wolfwood after a fight and holding him to listen to his vitals as much as he's doing it to feel him close. 

Vash doesn't technically need to breathe, but he usually does anyway. It makes him feel more grounded, more real - But he's mostly just going through the motions of breathing, not really taking anything in or expelling anything out. 

Vash never breathes when he's up in Wolfwood's space. He's almost afraid to, afraid of how much he wants to cross that boundary and feel the rise and fall of Wolfwood's chest against his own, let the smell of his soap and skin and blood fill his head.

But now, his face pressed against the junction of Wolfwood's neck and shoulder, right behind his ear, he lets himself breathe in. 

The scent of Wolfwood overtakes him, filling him up and threatening to make his head burst. Wolfwood is warm and solid against him, his heart beating so fast it's making Vash dizzy, his blood pounding through his veins and making Vash's senses sing.

He's wanted to do this for so long.

"You smell like sunlight," Vash whispers. "And the sand after a thunderstorm. Ozone and metal." 

Vash feels drunk on his scent, his bulk, his pulse, the sound of his ragged breathing.

"You're so warm," Vash murmurs, fingers sliding through the thick trail of hair on Wolfwood's waist, softly dragging his nails over the skin of his stomach. "Wolfwood..." 

He's wanted to do this for so long.

Every time he binds up Wolfwood's injuries, or falls against him in a fight, or catches his eyes when he thinks he isn't looking - Something inside him melts. He's yearning, some part of himself he was beginning to think he'd lost stirring inside him, calling him to reach out to Wolfwood. To touch him, to wrap him in his arms, to hold him and refuse to let him go.

To let himself be selfish for once. 

"Blondie -" Wolfwood manages, but he's leaning back into Vash, his head falling back against his shoulder, as Vash's hand slowly slips down between his legs, fingers curling around his growing hardness through his pants. 

"Can I?" Vash's voice is so soft from his closeness, his breath stirring Wolfwood's hair. 

"Fuck." Wolfwood nearly growls, and the sound sets Vash on fire. There's a brief hesitation in his eyes, in his muscles, but Vash can smell how much he wants this. How much he wants him. 

"Fuck, yes," Wolfwood exhales, the tension sliding out of his body and the way he gives in to the feelings he's been fighting sends lightning down Vash's spine.

Reluctantly, he pulls his arms from around Wolfwood, just enough to slide off the edge of the bed and into the floor, crawling forward until he's between Wolfwood's spread legs. 

Vash looks up at him, on his hands and knees, knelt in front of him like he's praying at the altar. Wolfwood's hand slides down to tangle his fingers through his messy blonde hair, the other rising to take a drag on the cigarette he's still holding. 

Vash shivers at his touch and the sight of him, bumping his head up into his hand like a cat as he undoes Wolfwood's belt buckle, his button, his zipper. He pulls his underwear down along with his pants, and he can't silence the sharp inhale when Wolfwood's semi-hard cock springs free.

Vash gently wraps his organic hand around the base, back arching up as Wolfwood's grip on his hair tightens. Vash runs his thumb slowly down the underside of Wolfwood's cock, pushing back the foreskin to expose the head fully, tongue licking a thick stripe up the tip. Wolfwood groans, cigarette clenched between his teeth and trailing smoke through the air as he braces a hand back on the bed.

Wolfwood is big, bigger than Vash had expected and definitely bigger than what hes used to, but it's nothing he can't handle. He's always been quick to adapt.

"You look good like this, Blondie," Wolfwood quips from above him.

Vash's eyes dart up to his face, his hand never stilling from where it's slowly moving up and down on his cock, working him up to full hardness. He can't help the flush that rises to his cheeks. Vash shifts a little closer and pushes his head closer into Wolfwood's palm, wrapping his lips around Wolfwood's cock as a response, his tongue lapping circles around the head in his mouth.

"Fuck." Wolfwood's breathing hard, hand shifting from the bed to remove the cigarette from his lips as he breathes out the smoke, thumb running over the pointed tip of Vash's ear. 

His voice is soft, low and throaty, so soft it's barely a whisper. "Good boy." 

Wolfwood tenses against him as the compliment slips out - From the way his heart skips a beat, Vash can take a wild guess he never meant to say that out loud and he's probably hoping he didn't hear. But Vash's hearing picked it up immediately, and the spike of arousal the words send through him is white-hot and almost painful. 

He pushes down further on Wolfwood's cock, taking him deeper into his mouth, eyes closing as he works his mouth on him, the praise wrapping around him like wings. 

"Oh." Wolfwood murmurs, fingers stretching through Vash's hair, scraping up his nape and down his shoulders and back up again, bringing a full body shiver from him. "You liked that," 

Vash's cheeks blaze crimson with the blood he'd drank earlier that evening, and he doesn't say anything, can't say anything, because he's swallowing Wolfwood's cock down his throat, his nose burying into the patch of hair on Wolfwood's hips.

Sometimes not having to breathe has its perks.

"Christ," Wolfwood swears, arching his hips up into Vash's lips, pulling him down by his hair and sealing his mouth around his cock. "Good boy. Fuck, you're a good boy, look at you -" 

Vash is absolutely dripping, underwear tacky with slick and sticking uncomfortably to his thighs, his cunt is throbbing and aching, but he doesn't care. All he cares about right now is Wolfwood, taking care of him, making him feel good. Hearing his appreciation and knowing he's enjoying this. It's all he wants right now. 

Vash pulls all the way back until he's kissing the tip of Wolfwood's cock, the string of saliva connecting them looking more lewd than it has any right to. Wolfwood puts his cigarette between his lips to slide his hand around Vash's jaw, his other fisting in his hair to tug his head back, illuminating his face in the narrow shaft of moonlight from the window. 

Vash's lips are parted, and he's still as a statue, forgetting to even breathe as Wolfwood looks him over, breathing hard and hungry like a predator. 

"These are sharp," he murmurs, pushing his thumb between Vash's lips to run along the edge of one of his fangs, and Vash turns his head to kiss his palm. 

"I won't hurt you," Vash looks up at him, hands sliding up his legs to grip the warm muscled skin of his thighs, so unlike Vash's permanently chilly flesh. "I won't." 

Wolfwood's pupils are blown wide as he takes the sight of him in, slowly withdrawing his finger from his mouth to run the thumb under his eye, the motion uncharacteristically tender.

"I know you won't." Wolfwood pulls the cigarette from his teeth to stub the butt out on the ashtray on the night table, and the sincerity in his voice makes something inside Vash twist. 

He trusts him. 

He doesn't think he's a monster.

He trusts him. 

Vash hides the delight lighting up every nerve in his body like fireworks by taking Wolfwood back into his mouth, swallowing him down to the hilt and dragging his tongue along him as close as he can. 

Wolfwood jolts under him with a groan and a curse, both hands wrapping into Vash's hair, his head throwing back in pleasure. 

"Fuck, Vash," Wolfwood's voice comes out strangled, and for a moment Vash's brain nearly short circuits as he hears his name on his lips. "Just like that." 

Vash closes his eyes and loses himself in Wolfwood, lets his world narrow just for now to the cock sliding heavy down his throat, the hands in his hair, the deep, ragged sounds Wolfwood is making above him.

Wolfwood's hand slides down his cheek, his jaw, his neck, fingers running over the slight bulge in Vash's throat as he bobs his head back and forth, up and down on him. 

"Fuckin' hell," Wolfwood strains, thumb pressing against the hollow of Vash's throat, sending a little whiteout of pleasure straight to Vash's cunt. 

Vash can tell he's close. Can feel his core muscles clenching, feel his balls drawing up tight, can hear the blood screaming through his veins and his heart pounding a thousand miles a minute. The sensations surrounding him are all-encompassing, drowning out everything but the two of them, together. 

Vash feels the familiar tingle in his markings light up, illuminating Wolfwood in the faint white glow. Normally he'd be embarrassed about the slip in control, but the sound Wolfwood makes as he notices is worth it. Vash looks up at him, their eyes meeting, and Wolfwood stares down at him with an expression of awe and lust painted across his features. He looks beautiful like this, lit up by the moons and Vash's glow, like he's something holy, something divine.

"Vash," Wolfwood chokes out when he cums, eyes never leaving Vash's as he spills down his throat. 

Vash's hand comes up to the bed to link his fingers with Wolfwood's, holding their hands tightly together as Vash swallows him down, head rocking against him to work him through it, fangs softly sliding against his skin and bringing ragged gasps from Wolfwood at the sensation. 

Wolfwood pulls him off his cock by his hair, gently, when it gets to be too much. Vash swallows hard, rolling his jaw and feeling the ache in his muscles from being stretched open so wide. His jaw will be sore tomorrow, but he doesn't care. He smiles up at Wolfwood, blush crawling up his neck all the way to his ears. 

He leans up taller on his knees, organic hand coming up to pull Wolfwood down to his level by tangling his fingers in the silver chain of the cross around his neck. The cross presses uncomfortably against his palm as Vash kisses him, burning like a little localized sun into his skin, but the pleasure of the kiss drowns out the pain. 

"Thank you," Vash murmurs as they draw back, both flushed and Wolfwood breathing uneven, their pupils dilated and lips swollen from the intensity of the kiss. "For letting me take care of you. In - In more ways than this." 

"Don't get sentimental on me, Blondie," Wolfwood scoffs a little, but there's a softness to his voice that isn't usually there, his edges briefly dulled by the haze of pleasure surrounding them both. 

"Whatever," Vash grins at him, mimicking Wolfwood himself. 

He laughs as Wolfwood pulls him in for another kiss, letting go of his necklace to wrap his arms around him, clamboring into his lap as Wolfwood holds him there, kissing him like they have all the time in the world. 

"Let me return the favor," Wolfwood drawls into his lips, kissing down the pale column of his throat, pulling the collar of his turtleneck down to press open-mouthed kisses to the faintly glowing markings on his skin.

Vash feels dizzy from how good it feels, but sunrise is approaching, and his limbs feel heavy and achy - He hadn't slept in the two nights it took to drive back across the deep desert to civilization, tending to Wolfwood's bruises and cuts the whole way there, fending off the fledgling that attacked them on the road. 

"Another night," Vash promises, fingers curling into Wolfwood's hair and cradling him against his neck. "I need a shower and to sleep today," 

Wolfwood sighs, but nods with a faint upturn of the corners of his mouth. "Didn't realize what time it was." 

"You should get some sleep too," Vash murmurs, cupping his face in both his hands, prosthetic thumb sliding over a bruise on Wolfwood's stubbled jaw. "You've been running yourself ragged on these hunts." 

Wolfwood grunts, biting Vash's jaw before he reluctantly lets him go, flopping back onto the bed and pulling his pants up, tucking himself away as he reaches for his cigarettes. "Somethin's goin' on in the badlands. You know it too... I know you feel it, movin' out there, under the sand." 

"And we can't do anything about it from in here, can we?" Vash purses his lips in lieu of truly answering, not quite wanting to address the situation in the desert right now, with the sticky-sweet cloud of arousal still hanging over him. "Go to sleep, Nicholas." 

Wolfwood rolls his eyes, but closes them shortly after, taking a deep drag of his cigarette arm draped over his stomach. 

"Yeah, yeah. Go shower, stinky." 

The sound of Vash's laughter is drowned out by the spray of the shower. He takes a long one, letting the cold water rinse off the sand and blood and grime of the desert. He tilts his head back against the water, and lets himself imagine that this must be what it's like to be baptized - Clear, cleansing, purifying. Like all your troubles are washed away, your sins absolved. For a brief moment, he wishes he could experience it. It must be calming.

When he's clean, it's too late to return to his own room a few doors down. His sunsense tells him the suns have long since risen above the horizon, and even if he covered up and sprinted he'd probably burn the first layer of skin off. He's tired, anyway, bone-tired, and it's just not worth it when Wolfwood's got a double bed with nobody on the other side. 

He scoops a clean shirt out of Wolfwood's bag, pulling it on over his head after gently removing his arm and retrieving his underwear from the bathroom floor, and crawls into bed behind Wolfwood. He's big and broad and warm, and Vash curls up under the cheap motel blanket against his side, head pillowed against his side, cheek pressed into the soft hair coating his chest. 

When he sleeps, he does so without nightmares for the first time in months.

Chapter Text

The dynamic between them shifts after that night.

Wolfwood is gone when Vash wakes up, his sunsense telling him the suns are about a half hour from really setting. He chances a peek out the blinds since the suns are setting behind the motel, and spies Wolfwood leaning against the far wall of the building, smoking and watching the suns bleed red and orange into the dark blue of the sky. 

They don't talk about it.

They don't talk about it, but when Vash steps out after sunset to tiptoe back to his room and get ready to get back on the road, Wolfwood catches him by the arm and kisses him so deep his head spins. 

They start renting just a single room in motels, sharing the double bed, long limbs tangled up together and bodies pressed close. They camp a few nights in the deep desert while tracking a band of feral vampires, and Wolfwood fucks him for the first time. In a sleeping bag under the stars, he pins Vash's wrists above his head and drives into him until he cries out his name to the night sky.

Months pass - Wolfwood gets shot in the stomach by a hunter who'd seen Vash exit a local blood bank with a full bag and tracked him to their motel room, and Vash fixes him up like he always does. 

He's unnaturally tense as Vash's gentle hands dig the bullet out and clean the wound, chain smoking half his pack of cigarettes as he sutures the wound shut. He pulls Vash on top of him after, onto his face, and eats him out until Vash has to clamp his hand over his mouth to keep from screaming and he can't sit upright anymore from shaking. 

He curls around Vash afterwards, pulling him into his chest, but his muscles are tense and he's touching Vash like he's made of glass and keeping him close drives shards into his skin. He mumbles something in a language Vash doesn't know into his hair, something that sounds like 'no te merezco'. 

Vash doesn't know what's bothering him, and he knows Wolfwood wouldn't want him to ask. So he just presses his face into his neck, curls his arms around his waist, and tries not to think about all the friends he's lost over all his long nights spent in the wasteland. He holds Wolfwood closer, tighter, as if he could keep him. 

••• 

Word has gotten back to the Church that Wolfwood is no longer working alone. He curses when he reads the message, sets it on fire in the motel trash can before Vash can ask to read the full contents. 

"It doesn't matter," Wolfwood gruffs, shrugging as he lights a cigarette, taking a drag before offering it to Vash. "Everyone thinks you're dead. They don't know who you are." 

Vash nods, brows furrowing as he watches Wolfwood pace, pulling smoke into his useless lungs, tasting Wolfwood's mouth on the filter. 

"They're not demanding to meet me or anything?" Vash laughs, but the sound is brittle, and his smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Not threatening to excommunicate you for cavorting with unsanctioned hunters?" 

"Nothin' like that," Wolfwood rolls his eyes, reaching out to take the cigarette back, leaning against the bathroom doorframe as he smokes, eyes focused somewhere else, mind a million miles away. 

"Nick," Vash murmurs, fingers curling around his own ankle where he's sitting cross-legged on the bed, blunt nails running over the scar tissue on the skin. "You'd tell me if you knew something bad was going to happen, wouldn't you? You'd let me help you?" 

Wolfwood rolls his jaw, one arm crossed over his chest and the other holding the cigarette loosely by his side. The moonlight from the window catches the cross around his neck, throwing the reflection onto Vash's cheek. It doesn't burn, but his markings glow faintly against the shadow. 

"Would you?" 

Vash looks down at his lap, fingers curling tight enough around his ankle to almost hurt. He doesn't answer, because there's nothing he can say that won't just start an argument. He feels like a hypocrite, asking Wolfwood a question like that, and Wolfwood's retort just drives the point home. Every time he tries to bring up the subject of Knives his voice catches in his throat and his mouth goes dry and he can't find the words. He's a hypocrite.

"Thought so," Wolfwood mumbles, more to himself than to Vash, taking a drag so deep on the cigarette Vash is surprised his lungs can hold it all. 

"Come to bed, Nico," Vash says instead, pulling the blankets down and patting the mattress beside him, trying to look perky and light and exactly the opposite of how he feels. 

Wolfwood scowls, but he does as Vash asks, crawling into bed beside him. His hand cups the back of Vash's head, pulling him close and bending him back, shotgunning the rest of the smoke in his mouth into his lips as his other hand finds its way between Vash's legs. 

That night they fuck hard and fast, desperate and messy. Vash leaves scratches down Wolfwood's back, and Wolfwood holds Vash's hips so tight that bruises bloom under his fingers and heal over again in seconds. It's full of longing, of unspoken emotions, of unsaid words.

Vash falls asleep in Wolfwood's arms, nestled against his chest with his cock still inside him. 

His dreams are jagged and uneven, full of nails driven through Wolfwood's palms, dark eyes staring out through the stigmata. Sharp blades spin around him like a tornado of razors as he crumples to the ground, reaching for Vash with his ruined hands.

„Y o u c a n ' t s a v e t h e m a l l„ Knives' voice reaches across the desert and slices through him with a million tiny wires. 

„C o m e h o m e„ his brother whispers in his ear before he plunges his fangs into his neck. 

Vash jolts awake with a start, hands flying to his face for them only to come away red and bloody from the tears running down his cheeks. 

He lays back down next to Wolfwood after cleaning himself up, but he doesn't sleep again that night.

••• 

"I have to go," Wolfwood says one day not long after he burnt the telegram from the Church.

His words stir Vash awake, and he opens his eyes to see Wolfwood standing across the room pulling on his blazer, his back to him.

"What time is it?" Vash slurs, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with one hand - his prosthetic still laying across the chair, he's started taking it off to sleep, he trusts Wolfwood - as he struggles to sit up in a groggy haze. 

His sunsense tells him that the suns are high in the sky, that there's no way he can leave the room right now without going up like a bonfire doused in gasoline. 

"Just after one." Wolfwood fiddles with his cuffs, not meeting Vash's eyes. 

"Oh," Vash frowns, muffling a yawn into his palm, waking up slow, like he always does if he's disturbed while the suns are still high in the sky. "You'll be back before moonrise so we can get on the road, right?" 

Wolfwood doesn't answer, just looks at his shoes as he slips them onto his feet, unlit cigarette clenched between his teeth. 

"Nick," Vash is awake now, senses on red alert as he picks up the unnaturally heavy pounding of Wolfwood's heart, frantic and erratic like a cornered dog. "What's wrong? What happened?" 

Wolfwood grunts, a scowl flashing across his face before he sighs, fingers tangling around the straps of the Punisher to pull it over his shoulder. 

"Nothin's wrong, Blondie," he rolls his eyes, but he still won't look at Vash. "Stop listenin' to my heartbeat. Freaks me out." 

Vash flinches a little, frown lines appearing between his eyebrows as he watches Wolfwood stand there like he's ready for a fight, confusion and dread filling his unbeating heart.

"You know I can't help it," Vash whispers, and he can't keep the hurt from his voice. 

Wolfwood tenses, and for a moment he looks apologetic, genuine distress at his barbed comment flashing across his features for the briefest second before they settle back into his signature frown. 

"Look, I need to report back to the Church. They're ridin' my ass for not showin' up to the Grand Cathedral in months." Wolfwood shifts his grip on the Punisher, his eyes drifting to the window where the blackout drop cloth is stapled, like it always is in their motel rooms. "I got a summons from my handler this mornin'. It's not optional." 

Vash pushes out of bed, ignoring the heaviness of his bones and the fogginess of his head that always comes with being awake at this hour of the day. "I can come with you, if you want -" 

Wolfwood shakes his head so hard his sunglasses fall off the crown of his head and down onto his nose. 

"No, you can't. The Grand Cathedral is in Octovern. That place is crawlin' with clergy and has hunters spillin' out of the fuckin' gutters. You seriously think it's a good idea for you to go anywhere near there?" 

Vash squirms. He knows Wolfwood is right, knows that's the exact reason he's avoided cities in general and kept to the outskirts of the badlands, roughing it when he had to. Octovern is the worst of the worst place to be for a vampire - The buildings there even have anti-vampire wards the closer you get to the city center, where the Cathedral stands taller than anything else around for miles.

"I can stay hidden." 

"How? You gonna hide in my backpack so I can smuggle you past the gates?" 

"I can talk my way through the gates -" 

"Can you talk your way past the wards?" 

"Most normal wards are so weak I don't usually trip the sensors -" 

Wolfwood grits his teeth then, dropping the Punisher to the ground with a thud that makes Vash jump, his hands dragging up his face through his hair. 

"You're not comin'!. That's final." 

Vash blinks, a laugh slipping out of his throat as he stares in disbelief at Wolfwood, blue eyes wide as he takes him in, takes in how he still won't look at him, won't look anywhere near him.

"'That's final'? Nick, seriously?" 

Wolfwood turns his head then, and Vash's enhanced sight picks up how he finally looks at him, dark eyes locking onto him through the tinted lenses of his sunglasses. 

"I'll be in Jeneora Rock in a month's time. Already picked up a bounty there, so he can't keep me around forever..." Wolfwood trails off, the last sentence sounding more like he's addressing himself than Vash. 

Vash wants to ask what's really going on. Wants to ask what he's talking about. Not for the first time he wishes he could dig his fingers into the cracks of the walls around Wolfwood's heart and find something other than more defenses. 

Wanting so makes him even more of a hypocrite, since there's so much he hasn't told him. 

"Okay," is all Vash says, because what else is there to say? 

Asking him to stay is stupid and selfish. Wolfwood has a life outside of this charade of normalcy they're performing out here in the desert - A life with people waiting for him, expectations to meet. Vash knows they can't go on like this forever, running from the sun and hiding in cheap motel rooms, fucking like they have all the time in the world and nothing to lose. 

He can't go with him because it's dangerous. Vash's presence would undoubtedly be noticed in any city, much less Octovern. He'd paint a target on himself, re-alert every hunter on No Man's Land that the reports of his death had in fact been greatly exaggerated. It'd put Wolfwood in danger if the Church found out he's been in even the most casual contact with a vampire, much less shacking up with Abel himself. 

It's a miracle, really, they lasted this long without having to face reality. 

"I'll see you in Jeneora, then," Vash curls his fingers against the fabric of his shirt - Wolfwood's shirt, hanging oversized on his lanky body. 

"Yeah." Wolfwood's hand is on the doorknob, broad shoulders tenser than Vash has ever seen them.

He sounds like he wants to turn back, to say more. Maybe that's just Vash's wishful thinking? He tilts his head up to look at him, over his sunglasses, and their eyes meet. There's so much anguish in Wolfwood's gaze, so much unsaid, for the briefest of seconds - But he blinks, and it's gone, replaced by a careful mask of neutrality. 

"You should get inside," is all he says, nodding towards the bathroom door. 

The sharp spike of disappointment that twists in Vash's gut at those being Wolfwood's parting words hurts more than the sunlight ever could. 

He stays in the bathroom long after the roar of Wolfwood's motorcycle fades into the distance, even though his ears strain to hear the familiar sound on the wind. He falls asleep again, fitfully, leaning against the bathroom door.

As he drifts off, he wonders if he'll ever see him again, or if Wolfwood will become another hazy memory of all the people he's loved and lost in this wasteland.

••• 

Vash lets himself mope around the motel for a few days until the girl at the front desk starts giving him nervous looks whenever he comes to the office to check in for another night. 

The problem with staying around humans is they're perceptive. Even if they don't know exactly what's going on, they'll sense it - Sense the aura of wrongness surrounding a person, pick up on the way they move too fluidly, the way their chest doesn't rise and fall naturally enough. 

Vash admires that about humans, their innate survival ability that nobody can ever take away from them. So he leaves in the witching hour, when the whole world seems asleep, after slipping an envelope of more cash than the room is worth under the office door.

He thinks about heading into the badlands, but his dream about Knives hangs heavy in his mind like a thundercloud. Thinking about being alone out there in the deep desert, feeling Knives out there, somewhere, moving beneath the sand like poison in a vein... It makes him feel like a child again, jumping at shadows and panicking at every strange noise on the ship. 

And this time, there's no one to hold him while he cries, to ground him through the nightmares.

He shoulders his bag and heads out to the main road, away from the desert, towards civilization, ignoring the faint, ever-present tingle of dread in the back of his mind, a constant reminder that not everything sleeps when the suns go down. 

Vash hitches a ride from a convoy of long-haul truckers headed to New Colorado. He manages to hide himself in one of the supply trucks, snuggling in under a tarp during the day and trying to stay quiet and unobtrusive at night. He jumps ship halfway to the destination after he hears a few of the workers whispering about him, managing to take refuge in an old factory building before the suns rise. 

The running and hiding is as familiar to him as his own reflection, but the ache in his chest is new. Vash is no stranger to being lonely - He's spent most of his life alone, a fugitive and a wanderer, burying his desperation for genuine human connection down deep where he could pretend it didn't exist. 

These months spent with Wolfwood have been the happiest he's had in years. It's been less than a week but the loneliness he'd nearly forgotten he felt is threatening to claw a hole in him, and the whispers when he dreams are growing louder. 

It's almost too much for him to take.

•••

It's a short trip to El Pazzo from the boundary line of New Colorado, and Vash finds himself in front of the local branch of the Bernadelli Insurance building just a few minutes after sunset. If he's lucky, she'll still be here, she won't have moved after her last letter - 

"You!" 

Vash whips around at the sound of the earsplitting shriek, hands tightening on the strap of his bag in anticipation of a fight, but his face splits into a grin when he sees the source of the voice. 

"Meryl!" he practically shouts, sprinting to the employee entrance around the side of the building and scooping her up into his arms before she can react. 

"V! What in the name of God are you doing here!" 

Meryl hugs him back fiercely, like she does everything, squeezing him so tight if he had to breathe he may choke. 

"I was just passing through, thought I'd come see my favorite girl," Vash puts her down with a smile so wide his eyes crinkle up. 

"Don't let Milly hear you say that," Meryl teases with a laugh, adjusting the case files she's carrying against her hip, gesturing with her chin towards the road. "Come on. Walk with me." 

Vash falls into step easily beside her, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his red coat, arms swinging despite himself as he shortens his stride to match her steps. 

"Still taking your work home with you?" he chides, nudging her shoulder with his. 

"Much like vampires, insurance claims don't respect my working hours," Meryl whispers the retort so softly no human could ever hope to hear it, her lips barely moving, but Vash's ears pick it up without any trouble.

He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck as he tries to look appropriately contrite. 

"So what are you really doing here, V?" Meryl tilts her head up to get a good look at him, using the nickname she uses in public when it's just not safe to call him Vash. "Not that I'm not happy to see you. Your last letter was just from halfway across the badlands." 

She gives him a shrewd once-over, eyebrow raising high into her bangs. "You seem to be missing a priest..." 

Vash grimaces at that, suddenly regretting his decision to tell Meryl all about Wolfwood in their correspondence - She didn't miss anything, that's for sure. 

"I've just got nothing on my plate right now, and it's been ages since we saw each other." He smiles down at her, shifting to walk on the outside, facing the street as they begin to near the more trafficked area of El Pazzo. 

"And your priest?" 

He tries not to think about how sweet it sounds to hear Wolfwood called his.

"He had... Church stuff to do. You know, I've got the whole can't cross the threshold without bursting into flames thing going on..." Vash shrugs, laughing to finish off the sentence, hoping that it doesn't sound too forced, or if it does, Meryl doesn't question it. 

She purses her lips and gives him a quick glance but doesn't push the subject, and Vash lets out a breath he's been subconsciously holding. 

"Well, you know you're always welcome here. Do you have a place lined up to stay yet?" Meryl shifts her purse up her shoulder and links her arm through Vash's prosthetic, walking arm in arm down the busier main thoroughfare of the town.

"Not yet, I just got in. There's a motel out near the highway that looks good -" 

Meryl cuts him off with a scoff, shaking her head. "Don't bother. The owner's a religious nut, has lay sisters bless the place monthly."

Vash winces, but lets her continue.

"It's no worry, V, you'll stay with us. You can have the guest room. We'll... Milly can move a bookshelf in front of the window or something." 

Vash feels a twist in his chest, and his posture relaxes as he squeezes her arm against his - Softly, because she's so small and so fragile, and he'd never do anything to hurt her. 

"I don't want to be any trouble..." 

Meryl rolls her eyes at that, smacking him softly on the back of the prosthetic hand, shaking her head. 

"You're never trouble. Everyone else just gets you all wrapped up in it and that's not your fault. It's settled. Now, come on, we'll all have dinner together." 

••• 

Dinner consists of roast, potatoes, and synthetic greens for Milly and Meryl, and a coffee mug of blood warmed up in the microwave for Vash.

Milly had nearly knocked over the couch in her haste to hug him when he walked in, and had the bookshelf from the hall moved over the guest bedroom window before he even got his things set down. 

They catch up for what seems like hours after dinner, swapping anecdotes of coworkers and claim hijinks for Vash's wild stories of he and Wolfwood making it out of hunts by the skin of their teeth. Meryl falls asleep in Milly's lap after one too many glasses of wine with Milly following soon after, and Vash carries them both to their bedroom like neither of them weigh a thing. 

Vash isn't tired yet - The moons are still high in the sky, so he busies himself breaking out the photo albums Meryl keeps on their living room bookshelf. He sits cross-legged on the floor and flips through the pages of their lives, watching them both grow up before his eyes in their respective family albums. He lingers on one of his favorite pictures, of Milly at her tenth birthday party. She's surrounded on all sides by her siblings, who are clapping or laughing or smiling as she blows out the candles on her cake. Some of them are blurry from their excited motions, and the grin on little Milly's face brings a smile to his as well.

He runs his metal thumb over the border of the photo, smoothing down the plastic keeping it in place on the page. He thinks, not for the first time, how lucky humans are, to have the capacity for such selfless love. To be surrounded by it, nurtured by it, so imbued with it that even just looking at a photograph, their love for each other can be felt through the camera's lens. 

He wonders if humans know just how amazing they are, to find the love in such a forsaken place as No Man's Land. To throw birthday parties for their children, to compile all their cherished memories into a little book to look at whenever they want to see something beautiful, to remember what matters to them. 

A drop of blood splatters against his sleeve, and Vash realizes he is crying. He wipes his eyes with the back of his organic hand, smiling and disregarding the tears tracking down his cheeks, as he pulls another album to his lap. The moments within may not be his, but he holds them close all the same, the memories wrapping around him like wings.

••• 

His stay with Meryl and Milly is blissfully uneventful. 

He stays inside their apartment the whole time he's in town, just in case anyone notices a stranger constantly coming and going from their building. The girls have a backlog of accrued PTO they're more than happy to use to spend time together, though Meryl makes a few trips to the office to grab case files to work on at home anyway. 

He makes friends with their cat, a tiny little black wisp of fur with big green eyes who is affectionately named Scrunch. He learns they're looking into adopting, and gives them a few names of orphanages he's learned through Wolfwood's contacts. They play board games Meryl absolutely demolishes them both at. Meryl and Milly get too tipsy one night and slow dance in the living room, Meryl standing on the tops of Milly's feet as they sway together to the music from the record player.

Vash's heart feels more full than it has in a long time.

"Do you really have to go so soon?" Milly asks for the fourth time as Vash packs his bag, filling it to the brim with his restocked first-aid kit, new socks, and best of all - full-size bottles of shampoo and real factory-made soap, all courtesy of Meryl. 

"I'd love to stay longer. But I don't want to draw any unnecessary attention to you girls," Vash says with a smile, pulling his bag over his head and adjusting the leather strap on his shoulder. "And I've got to meet Ni - Wolfwood in Jeneora in a few days, so I'd better start heading that way."

Milly sighs, pouting a little, but it seems she finally accepts this answer after hearing it several times in a row.

"How are you getting there?" Meryl frowns, leaning against the doorway as Scrunch weaves his way through her ankles. "The buses don't run at night, and getting a ticket on a sand steamer is too risky... They've got Eyes patrolling the ships lately." 

Vash freezes mid-buckling of his boot, slowly looking up at Meryl and managing an eloquent response somewhere along the lines of 'wuhh? hhhbuhhhh?' 

"I take it you didn't know that," she purses her lips, tapping a finger against her chin as she thinks. 

"I haven't exactly been hanging around populated areas for a long time." 

Milly, who has just sat down on the couch, shoots back up again so quickly she causes Scrunch to hiss in alarm and dart under the kitchen table. 

"We'll drive you! Meryl has a car, with a big trunk so we can carry our equipment to jobs. It's, um, well it's not the nicest way to travel, but you can sleep in there during the day..." 

Vash blinks, slowly lowering his foot to the floor, fangs worrying at his lower lip. 

"I couldn't trouble you any more -" 

Meryl claps her hands together decisively, nodding appreciatively at her wife. 

"An excellent idea, Milly! We'll drive you. I think I've got an active case for Jeneora in my files somewhere... We'll just tell Roberto we're investigating on site. It'll be a nice little vacation for us, won't it?" 

Milly nods with a wide grin, happily enveloping Meryl in a hug. 

"And we can meet this mysterious priest Meryl's told me so much about from your letters!" 

Vash groans, burying his face into his hands, but he can't keep the smile off his lips. He knows when he's been had - There's no arguing with Meryl once she's made her mind up. 

And besides, things have gone well during his stay. It's just a few days drive to Jeneora Rock as the crow flies, and he's been crammed into much worse places than a trunk. Wolfwood may rip his head off for making him play nice with the girls, but - Having all the important people in his life together... It'll be nice. 

It'll be a memory he'll be glad to cherish.

Chapter Text

Vash wakes up in Meryl's trunk as soon as they near Jeneora, with a nauseating sense of wrongness draped over him like a wet blanket. 

His sunsense tells him the suns are just barely dipping below the horizon, but he chances crawling out of the trunk through the backseat anyway, scaring Milly so badly she nearly jerks the car into a ditch. 

"Oh my God! I'm so sorry. Oh god. You scared me," Milly giggles a little louder than she should, shifting behind the wheel as Meryl stirs in the passenger seat, awoken by the chaos. 

"Vash... You're up early." Meryl groans sleepily, rubbing her eyes as she pops her neck.

All the grogginess disappears from her stance when she sees the frown on Vash's face, hand flying to the Derringers within her coat. 

"What's wrong?" Meryl urges, putting her free hand on Milly's arm as reassurance. 

"I don't know," Vash murmurs, fingers gripping the headrest as he folds himself into the backseat. There's something dark gnawing at the edges of his nerves, something cloying and alien and unnatural seeping into his skin like poison. "Something's... Bad. Something's not right." 

Milly glances at him in the rearview mirror, her foot hesitantly easing off the gas. "Should we -" 

Vash shakes his head, eyes glued to the darkening horizon, the craggy outline of Jeneora Rock coming steadily into view against the rising moons. 

"Keep driving. The people in the town could be in trouble." 

Vash's chest feels tight, and the taste of dead blood rises in his throat, filling his mouth and nose with old pennies, rusty iron. Fingers seem to scrape at the back of his mind, prodding at the edges of his thoughts, and Vash can't help but feel like he's being watched.

Being hunted. 

The closer they get to Jeneora, the stronger the feeling gets. Vash swears he hears whispers on the wind, feels claws ghosting over his skin. He's not moving, not breathing, not doing anything but staring out into the desert, paralyzed with dread.

Deep in his soul, Vash knows. He recognizes this feeling, recognizes the voice, the talons, the words slicing through his mind like razor wire. 

There's still a part of him that won't accept it. That hopes it's anything else, anyone else. For the sake of every life on this planet, he hopes it's someone else.

Though the words burn his tongue and threaten to set him alight from within, he clasps his hands together and prays. 

"Who are you praying to?" Meryl whispers as the car carries on across the dark desert, towards whatever stirs in the sand beneath Jeneora.

"Whoever's listening," Vash responds, bright markings on his skin lighting up the inside of the car like the sun.

••• 

Wolfwood is standing against the wall of a bar on the edge of town, smoking a cigarette in the shadows as the electric lights strung around the rock all flicker on to chase away the darkness.

Vash is out of the car before Milly can finish parking, stumbling across the sand like a newborn foal to him.

"Nicholas," he manages before throwing his arms around him, hugging him so tightly Wolfwood drops his cigarette to the ground.

"Fuckin' hell, Blondie, warn a guy next time -" 

"Something's wrong." Vash's tone is so uncharacteristically serious that the scowl drops off Wolfwood's face completely. 

"What? What's wrong?" 

Wolfwood's eyes slide off Vash's to over his shoulder, brows raising at the sight of Meryl and Milly running across the sand, guns drawn.

"Who the fuck are they?" 

"Meryl Stryfe-Thompson, good to meet you. Though I wish it were under better circumstances," Meryl introduces herself, shaking Wolfwood's hand crisply while he's too stunned to yank out of her grip.

Milly catches up in a few moments, winded from the run, gasping as she gives Wolfwood a little wave, fanning herself with her other hand.

"Milly Thompson-Stryfe," she wheezes, leaning against the side of the building for support. 

Wolfwood looks between the two women, confusion and annoyance on his face, before swinging his head back to Vash. 

"They're my friends. Insurance agents," Vash adds helpfully, which does nothing to quell the stupefaction of Wolfwood's expression. 

"But nevermind that. There's something very, very wrong here, Nick. I - I can't tell what it is, but it's bad." Vash's voice trembles, dropping so low only Wolfwood can hear him. "I can - I can feel him watching me." 

Wolfwood's eyes snap to Vash in an instant, hand going to wrap around one of the belts on the Punisher leaning against the wall beside him.

"Who is 'him', Vash?" 

Vash winces as a white-hot spear of pain lances through his head, bringing him to his knees with a cry. It's as if acknowledging him - Even accidentally, unknowingly so - has caught his attention, his phantom blades digging at the edges of Vash's mind.

"It's Knives, isn't it?" Wolfwood's voice raises a little, and the sound of his brother's name causes Vash to double over, arms curling around his stomach, forehead pressed into the cool sand as Knives shreds through his mental defenses like a knife through butter, a heat-seeking missile whose only purpose is assuming direct control. "It's always been Knives. That's what you always feel when we're out in the badlands, that's what even I could sense movin' around in the desert all this fuckin' time - It was him!" 

Vash groans, arms tightening around himself, little fireworks of agony blooming in his mind as he devotes all his energy to strengthening his mental shields, to pushing him out, to keeping him away.

"Stop it!" Vash hears Meryl cry distantly, as if she's underwater. "Whatever you're saying is hurting him!" 

Vash feels her hand come to rest on his back, her touch grounding him like a lighthouse in a storm. 

"It's not me that's doin' the hurtin'," Wolfwood growls, dropping to one knee and running his hand through Vash's hair, so softly Vash can hardly believe it's coming from him.

"Hey. Hey, come back planetside, Blondie," Wolfwood murmurs, hand sliding to grip his jaw and lift Vash's head from the sand. "Come back down. He's not gettin' you, not now or ever. Okay?" 

Vash pushes his cheek into the palm of Wolfwood's hand, desperate for the warmth of his skin on his own. 

"Nico," Vash rasps, and Wolfwood shifts to help him to his feet, fingers tracing up his jaw, his cheeks, over the points of his ears. 

"I'm right here." Wolfwood cups Vash's face in both hands, looking directly into his eyes through the yellow lenses of his sunglasses.

The look in Wolfwood's eyes is like no other Vash has ever seen in them before. His face is blazing with a righteous fury, eyes hard and fiery with a hunger and a vengeance that makes Vash weak at the knees. He's every inch Saint Michael with his flaming sword, come down from Heaven to carry out divine justice. 

"Where is he? Where's the bastard so we can take him down?" 

Vash shakes his head then, sand falling from his hair to his shoulders, as he covers Wolfwood's hands with his own. 

"You can't. None of you can. This - This is my fight. You have to get the townspeople to safety -" 

Wolfwood grits his teeth and growls in displeasure at Vash, an angry, predatory sound. 

"Bullshit. No way in hell I'm lettin' you walk in there on your own. I've got a score of my own to settle with that fucker, and you can't go in without backup -"

"I have to!" Vash shouts, and his tone is panicked as he curls his fingers around Wolfwood's wrists as if that was enough to protect him.

"I have to, Nico, you - You don't understand. You remember the gas station? When we met? You dropped half the building on me and emptied an entire clip into my chest and I was still kicking." 

Vash ignores Meryl's quiet 'my goodness' behind him, plowing on, desperately, as if he just believed hard enough he could make Wolfwood see the truth.

"My brother - He's... He's ten times as strong as I am. Maybe more. No human can kill him, or even put a scratch on him. When..." he stops, his throat closing up, eyes pricking with tears, but he forces the words out. "When July was destroyed, he survived, but... Only barely. But there wasn't enough blood in the veins of all humans to regenerate what was left of him." 

Wolfwood's lips part, and he drops his hands from Vash's face, taking a few steps back, almost involuntarily. 

"You're not sayin' - He's - He can't have," Wolfwood stops, all the color draining out of his face as he suddenly comes to the very conclusion Vash had been avoiding saying out loud.

"No," he whispers.

Meryl stomps her foot behind them, hands going to he hips as she stares between them, a frown etched into her face. 

"Will someone please tell us what's going on! We aren't all up to our ears in vampire lore..." 

Vash's organic hand curls around his prosthetic, gripping it so tightly he wonders if he may dent the metal. 

"Diablerie, the Church calls it. The greatest heresy a vampire can commit. Even among our own kind, it's seen as the worst kind of sin..." Vash shifts, unwilling to look anywhere but his boots, unable to meet his friends' eyes.

"It's when a vampire consumes the blood of another vampire, and drains them dry. If you drink another vampire to death, you... You don't only take their blood. You take their soul, too," Vash's voice drops to a near whisper, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as he forces himself to continue.

"You take their life, their memories, their powers and abilities. You take the very core of a person, and you take it for yourself. They no longer exist except to be a part of you, to... Fuel you."

Vash finally looks up, blood running down his cheeks in silent tears as he takes in the horrified expressions on Meryl and Milly's faces, the grim acceptance of what he already knows on Wolfwood's.

"My brother has been consuming countless other vampires since July. He's hidden himself somewhere out in the deep desert, he's been regaining his strength, and now..."

"He's coming for you," Meryl finishes for him, her face painted with dread.

"He's already here," Vash whispers, eyes raising to the small church at the peak of Jeneora Rock. "I can feel him, now." 

Milly adjusts the position of her gun as she glances anxiously from the church to Vash, teeth worrying her bottom lip. 

"Vampires can't walk on hallowed ground, can they?" 

Vash shakes his head, but his grip tightens on his revolver. 

"He can." 

••• 

It takes more than a little cajoling on Vash's part, but he convinces Meryl and Milly not to go anywhere near the church, and organize an evacuation of the townspeople instead. 

"Promise you'll be safe," Meryl whispers into his ear as they both wrap him in hugs, and Vash swallows down the tears that threaten to rise again as he curls around them, taking in their warmth and their love.

"Get the people as far away as you can," Vash responds, and he knows it's not what she wants to hear, but he can't make that promise. He won't break her heart by making it.

The girls concoct an elaborate story about being traveling hunters who heard of a planned vampire raid on the town, but all the people need to hear is 'vampires' before they're whipped into a frenzy, eager to escape as fast as they can.

Wolfwood is harder. He stubbornly refuses to leave Vash's side, his Punisher unwrapped and gleaming in the moonlight like the weapon of an avenging angel.

"Please," Vash starts for what feels like the hundredth time, but Wolfwood cuts him off with a snarl.

"You don't get to pick my fights for me, Blondie. You forget - I was made for this. Enough holy water in me and I can go toe to toe with mad old Methuselah -" 

Vash advances on Wolfwood so fast the air around them doesn't even stir, grabbing the lapels of his blazer, voice wild with desperation.

"There is not enough holy water in the world to save you from him! Nicholas, he will kill you," Vash's voice cracks, his hands running up Wolfwood's shoulders, up his neck, to cup his face, tone dropping to a whisper. "You'll die." 

Wolfwood frowns, pulling Vash's hands from his face to hold them in his own, a soft scoff coming from his throat.

"Then I take him down with me. He needs to be stopped Vash, even you see that. What do you care so much about it if I -"

"I care because I love you!" Vash's tears spill over then, a broken sob escaping him. "I love you, and I won't let you die because of me!" 

Vash's arms go around Wolfwood, pulling him against him, fingers threading through his hair, burying his face in his chest, ignoring the searing pain of the cross on his necklace pressing against his cheek. 

"I love you. I can't lose you." 

Vash's shoulders shake in silent sobs as he holds Wolfwood, holds him selfishly and stupidly, holds him like he's something he could keep, something he deserves to have. 

"Please," Vash begs, one final time, against his skin. "Please let me do this on my own." 

Wolfwood's arms go around him, hugging him so tight Vash thinks that as brittle as he feels right now, he could break in two. 

For a long time, there's no sounds but the wind across the sand and the beating of Wolfwood's heart. For a long time they stand in the now-empty town, holding each other. For a long time, they're the only two people in the world.

"You owe me for this," Wolfwood whispers at last, his voice husky with emotion, and when he smiles at him, just a little, Vash feels like he's seeing the sun.

••• 

Vash steps through the doors of the church, his boots smoking, then catching fire the further he makes it down the aisle, flames licking up his legs by the time he reaches the altar. The air feels heavy, wrong, so wrong - There's no peace or absolution to be found within these walls, only the smell of burning flesh and grave dirt.

There is laughter, nails dragging down his spine, drawing blood, the sound of the earth breaking open, and then - Knives is before him, crawling from the hole in the cracked ground of the pulpit, naked and streaked with blood and sand. 

Vash's gun is in his hand, then it isn't, and then he's growing claws, and Knives is laughing. Knives is taunting him, circling him, everywhere he steps the ground becoming unhallowed, his very presence withering the divinity within the church.

Vash fights him every inch of the way. He's paralyzed, stricken still like a statue from the weight of Knives' power over him, but he still fights - Refusing to give in, refusing to take his hand, refusing to stand by his side.

"Nai," Vash chokes through the taste of blood and ash in his mouth, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. "Don't do this."

Knives growls, his voice piercing through Vash like his blades. 

„Y o u c a n 't s a v e t h e m a l l„

And then Knives' teeth are in his neck.

There's searing pain. Vash hears someone screaming and he thinks it may be him. His markings are shining so bright they're drowning out the moon, his wings peeling away from his skin in an explosion of white feathers. Knives is forcing the Beast out, ripping apart the carefully constructed prison Vash has locked it inside of, channeling all its savagery and primal, inhuman rage through Vash. 

Vash's blood sings with the strength of the Beast, and in a moment of crystal clear lucidity, Vash knows Knives means to use the power within him to unmake the world. To start again from absolute zero. To build it back up in his image.

The power builds and builds within him until he can no longer contain it, Knives channeling it through him, ready to send out the raw, unmitigated force of the Beast in a devastating typhoon of force, decimating Jeneora and everyone along with it. 

Vash has but a single thread of control left over himself, and it takes everything he has to rip Knives off of him, throw him across the church away from him. The Beast is too strong, too wild, too enraged to be contained, and Vash doesn't have the strength for it.

He hears Knives scream in rage as Vash throws his arms heavensward, the full might of the Beast unleashed upwards as his wings extend to full span, his markings shining so bright Vash can't make out anything but white. 

The last thing Vash sees before he collapses to the floor of the church, utterly spent, Knives' broken howls of fury echoing in his ears, is the new crater in the surface of the moon.

••• 

"Wake up. Wake the fuck up, Blondie, the is isn't funny," 

"I don't think you should slap him around like that!" 

"He's not' wakin' up, the fuck do you want me to do?" 

"Hey! Don't yell at her, none of us are exactly experts in this." 

"I thought he couldn't die..."

••• 

When Vash opens his eyes, the first thing he registers is the agonizing pain flooding every nerve in his body. 

His skin hurts. His bones hurt. His muscles hurt. Blinking hurts. Everything hurts.

Pushing through the pain, he slowly lifts his hand, making a faint noise of disbelief when he sees the sharp talons still in place of his knuckles, the feathers sprouting from the skin of his arms. He feels his wings, heavy at his back, heavy against his face, weighing him down. 

"You're awake," a familiar voice comes from somewhere near his shoulder, so fraught with emotion that Vash almost doesn't hurt for a breath. "You're awake." 

"Wolf... Wood...?" speaking feels like swallowing razors, but Vash does it anyway.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm here," Wolfwood's face swims into view above him, face stricken with a mixture of despair and relief.

If Vash could smile at him, he would, but it takes all his strength just to reach up and touch Wolfwood's face, gentle, so his claws don't cut him.

"Where...?" Vash begins but Wolfwood stops him with a shake of his head, hand coming to clasp his own, heedless of Vash's talons.

"Vash," Wolfwood sounds truly scared for the first time since they've met, gripping his hand so tight it hurts - But right now, everything hurts, and he doesn't care, because it's Wolfwood. "You been like this for three days. You're not - Turnin' back. You're not healin'. I don't even know what to try," 

A humorless laugh bubbles up from Wolfwood's chest, his heartbeat pounding so loud Vash can barely focus on anything else. 

"I know how to kill vampires. I don't know how to fix 'em." 

Vash feels the corner of his mouth twitch, just barely, at that. His eyes slide closed, slowly, lacking the strength to keep them open, but his hand grips Wolfwood's closer, his voice coming out a barely audible rasp.

"Starving," Vash manages, and thinking about how hungry he is makes him hurt so badly he nearly passes back out. His fight with Knives, the unleashing of the Beast, burnt away every ounce of blood, sapped him of his strength. He has nothing left inside him, nothing except fumes and dust moving through his veins. Only sheer force of will is keeping him conscious, and even that has its limits. "Can't... Heal. Without -" 

"Blood," Wolfwood finishes for him, his dark eyes growing wide. "You need blood. Fuck, we - We don't have any, we're in the middle of fuckin' nowhere, we can't - There's nowhere to go-" 

Vash squeezes Wolfwood's hand best he can manage, the faintest smile ghosting over his lips. "S'okay, Nico. S'okay..." 

Vash is tired. He's so, so tired, and he doesn't want to die. But he is dying, somewhere in the middle of nowhere, and at least he's with the man he loves. If his face is the last thing he sees, the last voice he hears - He thinks it's not such a bad way to go.

"No. No it's not okay, you don't just get to die on me, not after you made me swear to leave you there, you made me swear I wouldn't die on you back there, and now you're tryin' to die on me like an idiot -" Wolfwood's voice is rising in panic, heavy with anger and desperation, but then he stops, silence hanging in the air between them.

Vash's eyes painfully creak back open, just enough to see Wolfwood release his hand and pull the cross from around his neck, balling up the pendant and chain and stuffing it into his blazer pocket before removing his jacket too, tossing it across the room and out of sight. 

His expression is grim, determined and resolute as he shifts onto the mattress where Vash lays dying and crawls on top of him. Vash makes a faint sound of confusion as Wolfwood's hand comes to cup the back of his head and guide Vash's lips to his bare throat as he presses a soft kiss to the side of his head. 

"Do it," Wolfwood whispers, tone almost pleading, almost begging. "Do it." 

Underneath him Vash makes a small sound of protest, hand weakly falling against Wolfwood's shoulder as if to push him off, but he can't muster even the strength to nudge him away.

Wolfwood shouldn't be offering this. He can't be offering this. It's instant excommunication, heresy, a death sentence. There isn't a Church on all of No Man's Land that would forgive the sin of a priest willingly letting a fledgling vampire feed from him, much less letting Vash the Stampede, the Typhoon, Abel, brother of Cain, drink him.

"Please," Wolfwood's fingers are carding through Vash's hair and pulling him closer, and Vash can feel his body trembling against his. "I won't let you die because of me." 

Vash's own words coming from Wolfwood's mouth almost break him.

Images flash through his mind - Images of Wolfwood, Wolfwood laughing at some stupid joke Vash made, Wolfwood stumbling out of a vampire nest without killing a single fledgling just because Vash had asked him not to, Wolfwood's arms around him and his lips on him and his heartbeat against his skin. 

Vash's hand curls against Wolfwood's shoulder, pulling him close with the last, last bit of energy he can muster as he opens his mouth and sinks his fangs into Wolfwood's neck. 

Wolfwood gasps above him, going tense at first, no doubt expecting the lies the Church has told him. Vash knows the Church spreads the story that the bite of a vampire is painful, agonizing, and almost always fatal. He knows that can be true, for a bite on an unwilling victim or from an inexperienced fledgling - But when the human is willing, and the vampire is gentle?

It's ecstacy for both vampire and human, endorphins flooding their bodies to calm and relax. It's like floating in the clouds, diving into the ocean, running through a meadow of green, green grass. The bite doesn't compel, doesn't brainwash the unwilling like the Church says - It amplifies existing emotions, turning friendship into the deepest trust, budding romance into love, physical attraction into need. For the duration of the bite, there's nothing else that matters except the two of you. 

Drinking Wolfwood is like bathing in sunshine. 

Vash feels warm - Truly warm for the first time, he thinks - bright, blinding heat spreading through him from the tips of his fingers to the bottoms of his toes. Strength flows back into his body, and he wraps his arms around Wolfwood tightly, pulling him close. The wounds on his body close up within minutes as Wolfwood's blood spills down Vash's throat, flesh knitting back together and bones mending beneath his skin. His wings flutter with new life as his broken feathers realign, the scent of burnt hair and charred skin disappearing from the air.

New scars stand out shiny pink on his skin, the only remaining signs of the trauma his body sustained from harnessing the full power of the Beast. His markings glow softly at first, brightening to rival the stars themselves as vitality flows through his body, breathing life back into him.

Wolfwood's tension has ebbed away entirely, and he moans above him as Vash's fangs slide deeper into his throat, his tongue dragging up his neck to lap at the blood dripping down his skin. Vash's legs wrap around his waist, his now blunt fingernails scraping up the skin of Wolfwood's back, pulling his shirt up along as he goes.

"Vash," Wolfwood gasps out, grinding his hips down onto Vash's core, sending a frisson of delight through Vash when he feels he's semi-hard. "Holy - Holy fuck, Vash," 

Vash scrabbles at the buttons on Wolfwood's shirt, the buckle of his belt, while Wolfwood's hands fumble to pull the shredded remains of Vash's pants and underwear off him, most of the fabric already crumbled to ash anyway. 

Vash softly rocks his head against Wolfwood's neck, lapping up his blood into his mouth, drinking slowly and shallowly, so careful not to hurt him or take too much. 

Wolfwood sounds absolutely wrecked when he groans Vash's name, eyes traveling down without moving his head to line himself up against Vash's hole. He slides his cock inside as soon as he finds the right angle, pushing in as deep as he can go. Vash's back arches up high, wings spreading to their full width as Wolfwood fucks him with shallow thrusts, stretching him open around him. 

Vash whimpers against Wolfwood's neck, arms tightening around him to bring him closer, fingers tangling into his hair as his wings curve around them, encasing the two of them in a sphere of white feathers. 

"F-fuck, Vash, you're - You're so -" Wolfwood cuts off with a throaty growl as Vash snaps his hips up onto him, pushing him in deeper at a sharper angle, the head of his cock dragging over the deepest parts of Vash. 

Vash clings onto Wolfwood like he's a life preserver in a stormy sea as he fucks him, deep and hard and passionate like he's never quite fucked him before. Vash's fangs feel at home in Wolfwood's skin, his blood pouring down his throat tastes like what he imagines seeing God must be like. 

Vash locks his legs around Wolfwood's waist and flips them over before Wolfwood even realizes what he's doing. Vash slides his fangs out of his neck, tongue licking over the wounds to seal them up. Wolfwood groans at the loss, gripping his hair and pulling him to the other side of his neck, tilting his head to re-expose his throat. 

Vash rocks down in slow circles onto his cock inside him as he sinks his teeth into the uninjured side of Wolfwood's neck, a shiver running down his spine at the harsh groan that slips out of Wolfwood as his fangs dig in. 

Wolfwood's hands, big and rough but so tender when they're on Vash, run up his thighs to grip his waist, thumbs rubbing circles over his hipbones as he fucks up into Vash, pounding him so hard that Vash relishes in the delicious soreness blooming throughout his cunt. 

He moans against Wolfwood's skin, wings curving down in a shield around them as he rides him, his hands sliding up Wolfwood's body to tangle through the hair on his chest, his stomach, his arms. He shivers when he feels Wolfwood run his hand along his wing, grinding down against him as Wolfwood's fingers trace the shape of his feathers, over the delicate cartilage connecting wing to skin. 

"You're so beautiful," Wolfwood murmurs, voice raspy from arousal and thick with reverence. 

Vash shivers above him at the praise, slowly pulling his fangs out of Wolfwood's neck to look down at him, to take in the sight of him. He kisses the bite marks he's left as Wolfwood's grip on his hip tightens, his other hand running up Vash's spine between his wings as he rolls his hips into him, driving his cock as deep into Vash as he can reach. 

Vash cries out at the pressure building within him, thighs trembling from the pleasure of Wolfwood's blood swirling in his veins and his cock pounding into his cunt. His back arches up high as Wolfwood presses down on the sensitive skin between his wings, digging his knuckles in just the right place to make Vash see stars and cum so hard he screams his name, head throwing back and wings snapping open. 

Wolfwood follows almost immediately, spilling inside of him with a hoarse shout, fingers dragging down Vash's spine to grip his waist with both hands, hips stuttering up into him as he fills him up.

Vash's wings are fully extended, his markings glowing brighter than the moon, his fangs are needle-sharp, blood is staining his skin from lips to chest, and Wolfwood is looking at him as if he's the most awe-inspiring thing he's ever seen as he trembles on his cock. 

Vash collapses on top of him as his orgasm plateaus, burying his face against Wolfwood's chest, feeling the rise and fall of his heavy breathing. Wolfwood's arms are around him immediately, one hand tangling into his hair as he kisses the top of Vash's head, his other stroking down Vash's spine, letting his fingers wander over his sensitive wing joints.

"Thank you," Vash manages when he's finally able to speak, eyes sliding shut as he nestles against Wolfwood's broad chest, nuzzling into the hair there softly. "Thank you. Thank you, thank you -" 

Wolfwood cuts him off with a kiss, searing in its intensity, his nose brushing over Vash's gently as he pulls back for a quick breath. He presses his lips to the beauty mark under Vash's eye, just below the small wings sprouting from his face, resting his cheek on the downy feathers for the briefest moment.

"Can it with the gratitude," Wolfwood retorts, but there's no real bite to it as he gathers Vash into his arms. 

Vash smiles against Wolfwood's chest, shifting his head until his pointed ear is right over his heart, letting the rhythm of his pulse lull him into a blissful daze.

His wings slowly begin to melt back into his skin, his markings fading, his fangs shrinking down to their normal, smaller points.

"Nico," Vash murmurs without opening his eyes, a smile on his face as he listens to Wolfwood's heartbeat slow naturally into the gentle rhythm of sleep.

"Mm," Wolfwood grunts softly in lieu of response, his fingers slowly stilling on Vash's back as he slips into dreams.

"I love you," Vash whispers, and the sound of Wolfwood's heartbeat speeding up is the sweetest song he's ever heard. 

"I know," Wolfwood barely mumbles back before exhaustion overtakes him and he truly does fall asleep, on a mattress in an abandoned building in the middle of nowhere. 

Chapter Text

Wolfwood wakes up from the deepest sleep he's had in decades, Vash curled against his side like a kitten, head pillowed on his chest.

He feels like he's been hit by a train, no longer tired but still physically exhausted from the absolute chaos of his last few weeks. He stretches, slowly, disentangling himself as gently as he can from Vash so as not to disturb him. Wolfwood grimaces as his spine cracks, his shoulders ache, his knees pop. 

"Gettin' too old for this," he used to tell the kids at the orphanage when they asked for piggyback rides. But he'd pick them up all the same, carting as many as he could carry around the churchyard, their laughter chasing away the ache in his bones, the invisible scars every vial of holy water leave.

He manages to find a room with running water, deep in the warrens of the basement of the abandoned building they're staying in. It's freezing cold, but it's not like he expects five-star service from hunter foxholes. 

It had been nothing short of a miracle Wolfwood remembered this hideout was even here as he tore away from the blasted remains of Jeneora in a hotwired pickup with Vash in the truck bed, racing against the sunrise. He can't get the image of him lying there out of his head - He imagines it must have been worse, before Vash's healing factor kicked in, using the last drops of blood in his veins to heal the worst of the burns. There were still gouges from Knives' claws and blades scoring his whole body, bones sticking out through his charred skin. He was covered head to toe in sand and blood, his wings broken and burnt, the razor-sharp talons growing from his fingers twisted at unnatural angles. 

Maybe someone else's eyes would have seen the demon the Church made him out to be, a devil made flesh, reaping penance for his heresy. But all Wolfwood saw was Vash, broken and dying out there in the desert. All he knew was he had to do something, anything to keep him safe, get him inside before the suns rose, to save him. 

Anything else was unthinkable. 

Wolfwood splashes ice-cold water on his face from the industrial sink in the corner, forcing himself back into the present. He strips his blood-soaked shirt off and throws it into a corner somewhere, not caring where it lands, as he rinses the dried blood and dirt from his forearms.

In the dingy mirror above the sink Wolfwood meets the eyes of his reflection. His dark eyes are tired, his broad shoulders slumped. The dark lines of the cross tattooed across his back are streaked with grime, nails caked with bloody sand. He recognizes himself, and that's what brings the familiar feeling of emptiness spreading through him. He recognizes the face in the mirror, wearing his exhaustion like armor and weaponizing his rage.

It's the face of someone who was damned long before he ended up in this situation.

Wolfwood drags his wet hands through his hair, groaning as pins and needles spike through him from the chill. He ignores his discomfort to stick his whole head under the faucet, hanging there with his arms over the sides of the sink, and lets the water run over him like a baptism.

••• 

Wolfwood manages to find a closet stocked to the brim with expired rations, crosses, stakes, ammunition, and thankfully, a few changes of clothes. Vash had handed over his bag to Wolfwood before heading into the church, but Wolfwood wouldn't even begin to pretend that he could fit into anything Vash's skinny ass could wear. 

There's a collared shirt that's a little too tight in the chest, but it's not like he ever bothers with all the buttons anyway. His slacks are so stained with Vash's blood from carrying him from the truck that they're stiff as a board, but thankfully there's a pair of black jeans in the back, fitted for someone a bit shorter and smaller than him, but they work for now.

His hand brushes over the bite marks on his neck from the night before as he dresses, and he can't stop the shiver that runs down his spine. They're almost fully healed, thanks to some weirdness in vampire saliva Wolfwood doesn't want to think about too much or too long. But the marks are still there, rapidly fading but sure to scar, as all vampire bites do. 

"Guess I'll have to start wearin' a priest's collar to the office," Wolfwood mutters to the empty room as he grabs a few spare boxes of ammo for Vash. 

A year ago, the thought of himself even speaking to a vampire would have had him laughing in the face of person who suggested it, and likely told them to go fuck themselves. His thumb runs over the bites, eyes briefly closing as he remembers how it felt when Vash sank his teeth into his neck. 

Wolfwood would be lying if he said he wasn't scared shitless. The Church drilled it in to all the orphans they took in that the bite was instant death - That vampires would only avoid draining a human dry if they planned to enslave them with their supernatural compulsion, binding them entirely to their will. He'd been told it was agony, worse than fire and brimstone, and your soul was damned for eternity the second the fangs broke skin. 

But it was nothing like that with Vash. He was gentle. He didn't take too much. He made sure Wolfwood felt good during, even when he'd been inches from death before he fed. 

Wolfwood hadn't felt any hesitation when he offered his throat to Vash. If he needed, he would do it again in a heartbeat. The complete confidence he feels at knowing what he would do, the lengths he would go to to protect him - 

It scares him. 

Wolfwood has never felt this sure of anything. The closest he's maybe came is the confidence that when he aims his gun, he's ready to pull that trigger and send another soul to hell. But other than that? He's never been so sure. Not of himself, not of the Church, not even of God.

He already signed his death warrant while his blood was spilling down Vash's throat. He figures his blasphemy in God will just give them more reason to throw gasoline on his funeral pyre. 

••• 

While Vash sleeps, Wolfwood makes his way up to the roof, chain-smokes half his last pack of cigarettes, and he remembers Octovern. 

••• 

It was nearly three A.M. when Wolfwood's bike rolled to a stop outside the Grand Cathedral. 

Even that late, there were candles in every stained glass window, lighting the ten foot high images of God and Mary in what Wolfwood knew the Church liked to think of as beacons to the faithful. 

Wolfwood frowned at the sight as he pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. He took his driving gloves off slowly, one finger at a time. He did a quick check of his bike, brushing sand off the seat. 

He was stalling. He didn't know why. Or maybe he did, he just didn't want to admit it. The words of the telegram he'd burnt before he left Vash in that motel room were still running through his mind, taunting him with the way they wouldn't leave him alone.

WOLFWOOD COME TO GRAND CATHEDRAL AT ONCE STOP NEEDED FOR MISSION OF GREAT IMPORTANCE STOP GREAT FORCE OF NATURE APPROACHING STOP UNABLE TO SAY MORE OVER UNSECURED LINE STOP 

Wolfwood wasn't stupid and the Church wasn't known for beating around the bush. 'Great force of nature' could really only mean one thing and he did not want to hear it. 

"The hour of your arrival is late. We were expecting you days ago." 

The voice was an ice pick to Wolfwood's spine, and his hands tightened around the straps of the Punisher, digging the leather of the belt so tight into his palm it nearly drew blood. 

"Came as soon as I could. Was out in the badlands. You know how it is." 

Chapel wheeled forward into the circle of light from one of the windows, and Wolfwood felt sick to his stomach. 

"Yes, the badlands... That pertains to the discussion we must have, actually.. Come inside. Livio is already here." 

The pit of dread in Wolfwood's stomach only grew, but he shoved it down and followed his handler into the Cathedral, ignoring the way the doors swinging shut behind him felt like the lid of a coffin. 

Regardless of whatever bullshit Chapel was about to hit him with, he was glad to see Livio, at least. It had been too long since they caught up, longer still since they took a job together - Though Wolfwood was hoping this wasn't a joint assignment, considering his... Current company. 

His thoughts flashed, not for the first time, to Vash, how the look in his eyes when Wolfwood closed the door on him without looking back felt like a knife to his spine. He told himself the same thing he'd been telling himself the whole ride to Octovern - Vash's fragile cover would have been blown sky-high before he even made it past the city limits. There were more checkpoints surrounding the city, more mandatory screenings for new arrivals, and absolutely nothing coming in or out after dark. 

That last rule, or course, didn't apply to Wolfwood, since he'd simply pointed a handgun at the guard on duty and threatened to blow his dick off if he denied entry to an Eye. 

But Vash would have had no such luck. He couldn't have come. He had to stay back, even if he didn't understand, even if Wolfwood had to raise his voice and get angry to make him back down. Cruelty was easier than the truth.

Livio's hand clapping down on his shoulder brought him back to the present, a wide smile splitting his face as he squeezed Wolfwood's arm. 

"Nick. Doin' good?" 

Wolfwood grasped his forearm in return, shrugging the Punisher as he glanced around the pews, trying to force down the bad memories of the place that roiled in his mind. 

"Can't complain. Shame you're still ugly," Wolfwood drawls, eliciting a barking laugh from Livio, falling into step behind him as they followed Chapel through the small door behind the nave, heading into the tunnels beneath the Cathedral. 

"Do you have any idea what this is about?" Wolfwood mumbled to Livio, cutting his eyes at the big man next to him. 

He was pretty sure he already had a decent idea, but - He wanted someone to tell him he was wrong. That it was anything but that. 

"Not really." Livio shrugged, eyes focused on the back of Chapel's wheelchair as they neared their handler's office. "Some Methuselah, maybe?" 

Wolfwood rolled his jaw, playing with the possibility that the telegram really was just about a run-of-the-mill Methuselah - a clever name for a particularly old vampire who'd fallen into hibernation and somehow woken up.

"I won't mince words, gentlemen," Chapel steepled his hands on his desk once they were all inside his office, shrewd eyes looking over them both. "We have received good intelligence that, much like we have suspected of Cain, Abel did not, in fact, perish in the July Incident." 

Wolfwood schooled his features into a mask of neutrality, pulling a cigarette from the pack to light it up, refusing to acknowledge the white-hot spear of panic that bloomed behind his eyes for a single heartbeat.

"Vash the Stampede?" Livio spoke first, frowning, his arms crossed over his broad chest. 

"Yes, that is the name he uses when he walks with humans, pretending to be one of us as he sows chaos among God's children." 

Wolfwood's cough covered his humorless laugh, and he took a deep drag to give himself something to focus on. 

They really don't know anythin' about him, do they? Wolfwood thought, brows furrowed beneath his messy fringe. 

"And where exactly does this intel come from?" Wolfwood ignored the thunderous look of rage on Chapel's face at being interrupted as he gestured vaguely with the hand holding the cigarette. 

"Almost every unsanctioned hunter that's ever held a stake comes runnin' here, cryin' about the rebirth of Vash the damn Stampede every time they see a bloodsucker with blonde hair or a red coat." Wolfwood scoffed, blowing smoke out of his nostrils. "Forgive me if I'm not exactly willin' to go balls to the wall on another hunch, Father." 

Chapel's eyes narrowed at him, his fingers gently shaking with rage at his obstinence, but his voice was smooth as he continued. 

"Your concern is noted though not necessary. An unsanctioned hunter did bring us this tip, though we have sufficient evidence to believe that the creature in question may truly be Abel." 

"If you don't mind me askin', what's the evidence?" Livio leaned forward, elbows on his knees, emboldened by Wolfwood's little outburst. "I'm ready to go after a vampire no matter what, but if it's really Vash the Stampede, I'd like to know for sure so I can get prepared." 

Chapel sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose in exasperation, muttering under his breath. "My two brightest apprentices and you continue to ask the dimmest questions," 

Chapel pursed his lips into a thin line, hands crossing over each other on the desk. "Very well. The hunter spotted what he suspected to be Abel leaving a blood bank in Promontory, likely after robbing it." 

He bought that blood fair and square, dick.

"Abel spotted him, and opened fire. The hunter was lucky to escape with his life." 

The idiot callin' himself a hunter shot first - Got me in the stomach, too. All Vash did was take out the fucker's kneecaps.

"The hunter was sure it was Abel. He'd never seen such preternatural aim. The nurse operating the blood bank was severely injured, tortured by Abel, but was able to give a description of her killer before succumbing to her injuries. There's no question, this is Vash the Stampede." 

The hunter tortured that nurse 'til she coughed up Vash, then left her to die. 

Livio sat back hard in his seat, clearly convinced. Wolfwood's hand tightened on the arm of the chair until the dark skin of his knuckles paled, his teeth ground together so hard his jaw ached. 

"I want the two of you focusing solely on this. One of you will begin canvassing the cities and towns, and you will leave no stone unturned to find a scrap of his presence. The other will take the desert, working on the fringes, searching the border towns and the nests in the badlands. When you find him, kill him." 

Chapel leaned back in his chair, hands folding into his lap, looking between the two of them.

"You two are my best. The very Eyes of God on this earth. I have full confidence one of you will bring me Vash the Stampede's heart, so that I may stake it to my wall." 

Chapel pulled open the drawer of his desk, and Wolfwood's heart dropped into the floor as he pushed the contract across his desk, placing down the solid gold ritual pens on the blindingly white cardstock. 

Livio leaned forward, pricking his finger with the pen and wincing as his blood filled the inkwell, signing his name on the contract with no pomp or circumstance. 

"I will have Razlo sign his contract at a later date," Chapel added, ignoring the flinch his words brought Livio. 

Wolfwood felt like he was staring at the contract for an inordinately long time, eyes focusing and unfocusing on the paper, the red of Livio's blood bright against the white, white like Vash's markings in the moonlight, white like his bones -

"Nicholas. Are you quite well," Chapel drolled, in a way that indicated he did not give a single shit if Wolfwood was well or not. 

Wolfwood scrambled to right himself, bring himself back to the present, to push away the thoughts of Vash smiling, laughing, the feeling of his cold hand on his skin, his lips on his mouth. 

"What if we fail?" the words escaped Wolfwood's mouth before he could think, and he tore his eyes away from the contract to level his gaze on Chapel, dark eyes burning into the man's hateful face. "What if we can't kill him?" 

Chapel raised a single eyebrow, looking directly back at Wolfwood with a thoroughly unimpressed glare. 

"Then he will have killed you, for that is the only acceptable avenue of failure. You will rest easy with God, having died a martyr for the human race." 

Wolfwood swallowed down the manic laugh that threatened to bubble out of his chest at the mere thought of Vash killing anyone. 

He wanted to take the pen and drive it through Chapel's skull. 

But he picked it up, pricked his finger, and signed. 

There wasn't anything else he could do. 

He stood up from his chair so hard it flew against the opposite wall, and he stalked out of the office, Punisher slung over his shoulder, ignoring Livio calling his name. 

He got on his bike and tore his way out of the city, the guard who he'd threatened to let him in not even hesitating to throw the gate wide for his passing. 

He drove out into the deep desert, no direction in mind, feeling the night wind ripping through his hair and the rage in his chest building. 

He stopped when he reached a cliff, bike kicking up dust and rocks as he screeched to a halt. 

"Fuck you!" Wolfwood shouted to the sky.

He didn't know who he was shouting at. 

Chapel? 

Himself? 

God? 

"Fuck you! Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!"

Out there in the desert, surrounded by nothing but the wind and his own thoughts, Wolfwood screamed until his voice went hoarse. 

••• 

He's back inside, his memories hanging heavy in his mind like poison, when Vash wakes up. 

"Hi," Vash says, stretching like a cat as he sits up, his voice sweet with sleep. 

"Hi," Wolfwood deadpans, arms folded over his knees as he sits perched on the edge of the mattress, sleeves rolled up to the elbows in the stifling heat. 

Vash crawls across the ratty mattress to him, naked on all fours, and Wolfwood's heart skips a beat at the sight of him in the dim light of the basement. Vash gives him a slow grin, and Wolfwood scowls, knowing his enhanced hearing picked up the stutter of his pulse. 

"You're looking especially grumpy today," Vash leans up on his knees to kiss him, and Wolfwood kisses him back, hand holding his cigarette rising to brush over the line of Vash's cheekbone softly.

"This is just my face." 

Vash laughs, eyes crinkling. His laugh sounds like sunshine and the knife twists deeper into Wolfwood's ribs. 

"I've seen you smile. You know how much I like it when you do." 

"Fuck off," Wolfwood responds immediately, and he takes a harsh drag of his cigarette to mask the way his pulse speeds up at Vash's smile.

Wolfwood raises an eyebrow as Vash stands up and stretches again, slow and lazy, not a stitch of clothing on.

"Can you put that away?" Wolfwood grouses, shaking his head as he tosses Vash's bag to him, grinding the heel of his hand against his temple where he feels the start of a migraine.

"What, you don't like it?" Vash cocks a hip to the side, prosthetic fist resting against his waist, shaking his hips in a way that earns him the driest glare Wolfwood can muster. 

"You are somethin' else, Blondie," Wolfwood sighs in exasperation, rubbing the bridge of his nose behind his sunglasses. "You and your pussy." 

Vash makes an undignified sound as he falls back onto the mattress with a peal of laughter, pulling his pants and underwear from the change of clothes in his bag up his hips. 

"I knew you liked it!" 

"I wouldn't put my tongue in it on the regular if I didn't." Wolfwood ignores the choking noise Vash makes at that, eyeing him over his shoulder with a dubiously raised eyebrow. "You're in fine form for a guy who was dyin' in my arms last night, you know." 

Vash stills then, ceasing his squirming as he slowly pulls the single-sleeved black turtleneck down over his head, fingers curling in the hem of the fabric. 

"I'm okay now, Nico," Vash murmurs, and Wolfwood's nickname on his lips causes his pulse to jump, like it does every time. "You saved my life, remember?"

Vash smiles again, crawling back across the mattress to wrap his arms around Wolfwood from behind, pressing his cheek on his shoulder and squeezing him like he's a teddy bear. He grunts at the gesture, tensing up for a moment before sighing and throwing his arm backwards around Vash, pressing a kiss to his temple as he stubs his cigarette out on the concrete floor. 

"I - I'm just happy, Nick," Vash says in a small voice, lithe body coming to rest against Wolfwood's bulk, gripping the fabric of Wolfwood's shirt in his fingers. "I know that's selfish of me. I know I shouldn't, because I - I couldn't stop him, but... The people of Jeneora are safe because of you, and Meryl, and Milly. I'm safe. You're safe. We're together, and -"

Vash laughs then, tucking his chin over Wolfwood's shoulder as he nuzzles his temple, taking slow, deep breaths against his skin, sending tingles down his spine as he's scented. 

"And that makes me happy, for now. You have to think about the little things, when... When there's a lot of bad." 

Wolfwood stays silent for a while, hand absently rubbing Vash's organic wrist, leaning back against him, feeling the chill of his skin drive away the heat of the day.

"You are so corny," he mutters, and closes his eyes to the sound of Vash's laughter against his cheek.

••• 

After a much-needed scrubbing down in the sink, Vash uses one of his radios to get in touch with Meryl and Milly, relaying back the information that they're safe in a little hamlet at the foothills of the Superstition Mountains, and that all the townspeople of Jeneora Rock who didn't elect to strike out on their own are safe with them.

Meryl doesn't question how Vash is alive past a general inquiry into his wellbeing, and Wolfwood counts himself lucky she didn't wonder out loud how Vash healed so fast. Milly pipes up with a greeting directed specifically at Wolfwood, mentioning how one of the townsfolk had ridden his bike out in the chaos, and it was safe in the village as well. 

Vash laughs at the twitch in Wolfwood's eye at the thought of someone else touching his bike, and clamps his hand over his mouth to thank Milly before he can tear some innocent refugee a new one.

"We should probably wait another night before we head out. It's late, the moons are kind of low..." 

Wolfwood has learned long ago not to question how Vash always seems to know the exact position of the suns and moons. He gets it's a vampire thing, but it's still weird.

"...we can get on the road at moonrise tomorrow and make it to the Supersitions before sunup if we floor it." 

He's only half-listening, because Vash has just turned his back to him for the first time since Jeneora, and he's just noticed his hair. 

The thick shock of hair on top of his head, falling into his face in that stupidly messy, spiky way is still sunshine blonde. But the underside, the shorter hair cropped close to his skull, the hair Wolfwood loves to push his fingers through and scritch because it makes Vash squirm like an excited puppy, has darkened to a deep, rich, jet black.

"Nick? Does that sound like a plan?" Vash turns around from where he had been taking stock of supplies from his bag, stopping when he sees the confused look on Wolfwood's face.

"What's wrong?" Vash frowns, shifting from foot to foot nervously, his boots scuffing the floor. "Nick?" 

Wolfwood snaps out of his reverie, tearing his eyes from Vash's hair to his face, blinking a few times behind his sunglasses. 

"Uh," he says eloquently, gesturing with an unlit cigarette towards the general direction of Vash's head. "Your... Hair? Is that - Is that normal?" 

Vash's hand flies to the back of his head, bag dropping to the floor with a heavy clang of empty thermoses. 

"Shit," Wolfwood swears, and he's by his side in a breath, cupping Vash's head and softy scratching his fingers through the soft, newly black fuzz of his hair. "Is that not normal? Are you -" 

Vash swallows hard, hands clenching into fists as he looks at his reflection in Wolfwood's sunglasses, tilting his head with a pained grimace flashing across his face. He pushes into Wolfwood's hand, so Wolfwood cradles his head close, thumb stroking the point of his ear in an attempt to soothe whatever's gone wrong. 

"I didn't think it would be this much," Vash sounds utterly destroyed, and Wolfwood recognizes his rapid blinking as an attempt to stave off tears. 

"Whoa. Whoa, Blondie, back up. What's goin' on? You alright? Is this bad?" 

Vash nods, though he doesn't clarify which question he's nodding to, a sniffle escaping his throat as he shifts away from Wolfwood, bending to pick up his bag. 

"I'm... I'm fine," Vash starts, pulling his bag back over his shoulder, shooting Wolfwood a strained smile that doesn't meet his big blue eyes. "It's not bad. I mean - It's not good? Shit. This is coming out all wrong..." 

Wolfwood frowns, sliding an arm around Vash's narrow, strong shoulders, squeezing his bicep in a way that he hopes is comforting. 

"It's not causin' you pain?"

Vash shakes his head.

"It's not a symptom of some weird vampire disease?" 

Vash laughs a little at that. Shakes his head again. 

"It's not a divine death omen?" 

Shakes his head again, and he elbows Wolfwood in the ribs for that one.

"Then it doesn't matter. You don't have to talk about it, if you don't want to." 

Vash slumps against Wolfwood's side, curling his prosthetic around his back, nuzzling his head into his neck in what feels like relief. 

"Thank you," Vash murmurs, sighing a little. "You're a good person, Nico." 

Wolfwood stiffens a little at Vash's words, jaw clenching tight, and for a moment he's back in Chapel's office, signing his name in blood on a promise to bring Vash's heart on a platter to the Grand Cathedral.

"Not really," Wolfwood whispers.

Chapter Text

The next night, right as the moons crest the horizon, they hop into the borrowed pickup and start out across the desert. 

Wolfwood floors it as instructed, and true to Vash's words, the hamlet Meryl had given the coordinates to over the radio comes into view about a half an hour before sunup, the Superstition Mountains rising up dark and imposing behind the small cluster of buildings.

"It's creepy how good a sense of direction you have in that empty head of yours," Wolfwood mutters, popping the clutch and easing the truck into a rolling stop. 

"I'm three hundred and fifty years old," Vash looks at him over the top of the map that he dug out of the glovebox, eyes crinkled behind his yellow-orange lenses. "I should hope I know my way around this planet by now." 

"Hag," Wolfwood states drily as he slams the drivers' door, retrieving the Punisher from the truck bed and slinging it over his shoulder. 

"Hey!" Vash protests, shutting the passenger door with a gentle click. 

"Old man." 

Vash shoves him as they come around the front of the truck, lower lip stuck out in a pout. 

"Cradle robber," Wolfwood adds as he slides his arm around Vash's back, pulling him flush against him for a kiss. 

Vash melts against him, arms sliding around his neck as he steps onto his tiptoes to make up for the scant height difference between them. He lets out a soft groan as Wolfwood bends him backwards, the kiss deepening, his lips trailing from his mouth to his jaw to the collar of his turtleneck - 

"Hey! You two! It's about time you showed up!" Meryl's voice carries across the sand, and Wolfwood sighs, pressing a quick peck to Vash's lips as he pulls him back upright, Vash's head still spinning from the kisses.

"What's that supposed to mean?!" Vash cries out to Meryl defensively. 

Vash's toes curl in his boots as Wolfwood slings his arm over Vash's shoulders, keeping him against his side as he walks them towards Meryl, other hand gripping the Punisher's belts, like he's done it a thousand times before. The gesture is so small, so casual, Vash wonders if he's even realized he's done it. Wolfwood is holding him close, and despite his loose stance, his heart is pounding so loud it's drowning out almost every other sound around them. 

Vash shoots him a questioning look, but they reach Meryl before he can push the subject. 

"Hi!" Vash smiles at Meryl, offering her a little wave as he stays snuggled in Wolfwood's arm.

"Vash! And... Reverend?" Meryl tries the title out hesitantly, eyes darting to the silver cross hanging from Wolfwood's neck. 

Vash realizes they really never did have the chance to have a full, proper introduction past their brief exchanging of names at first meeting.

Wolfwood snorts so loud at the title that a nightbird startles, flying off its perch on a nearby cactus. 

"Wolfwood's fine."

She nods, clapping her hands together as she looks them both over, exhaling a huff of relief. 

"Well, you two look much better than I expected..." she casts a curious glance at Vash, and he squirms under her scrutiny, tucking closer to Wolfwood as if he could hide him from her questions. "...I figure you're starving, Vash, I couldn't really find anything on such short notice but -" 

"I'm good," Vash smiles brightly, easily slipping on the charismatic mask he wears every time he's trying to sweet-talk his way out of something. 

He feels bad using this tactic on Meryl, but - He doesn't want to let slip anything that could possibly get out and put Wolfwood in danger.

Meryl blinks, one dark brow arching. 

"...You're good?" 

Vash nods, giving her a thumbs up. He's really laying it on thick - Meryl is usually unflappable, able to see through even the thickest coat of bullshit, but even she looks taken aback by the amount of cheer Vash is exuding. 

"I'm good! I mean - I'm not... Good. I'm processing. But, you know, I'm good. I'll be okay," Vash exhales, hand gripping the back of Wolfwood's jacket. Those words, at least, aren't an act. 

"That's... Good..." Meryl draws the word out slowly, but her expression softens, and she sighs, crossing her arms. "I'm really glad you're okay, Vash. And when you get hungry -" 

"Ah, me and Nick stopped on the road. All stocked up." Vash pats the bag hanging by his hip.

Wolfwood shoots him a confused glance, and Vash drives his knuckles so hard against his ribs that he gags, covering up the sound with a cough. 

"Yeah," Wolfwood chokes, glaring down at Vash and doing absolutely nothing to add any sort of credibility to their cover story. 

Meryl narrows her eyes slightly. If Vash could sweat, he'd be sweating bullets right now, practically begging the universe to have her accept this without questioning, to not remember there's exactly nowhere they could have stopped for blood and still made it here before sunup. 

"Alright," she concedes, and Vash lets out a breath he even mean to hold.

He knows she knows there's something he's not telling her, but she respects him enough not to push it. 

For now. 

"Come on. Let's get you inside before dawn breaks. Me and Milly already have you set up in the basement of the granary..." 

••• 

Vash wishes he could trap the time spent with his best friends, in that tiny village in the mountains, in a bottle and keep it forever. 

Meryl takes over rehousing the former citizens of Jeneora and reallocating the town's resources with frightening efficiency. Milly makes sure anything the townspeople need done is handled - Building a desk, repainting shutters, fixing their cars, checking the leak under the sink, she's got it all under control.

Vash himself is hesitant to leave the granary at all after what happened, but Meryl practically drags him out by his hair and puts him to work constructing a little neighborhood for the refugees on the edge of town. He manages a flimsy cover of being a hunter not used to waking in the daylight hours and wears a hat pulled low to cover his pointed ears.

He's pretty certain not one damn person buys it, given how they cut him a wide berth and give him nervous little glances every time he walks by. But after the third week in town and nobody has turned up dead or full of bite marks, the villagers' tension lessens. A few of them pitch in and help him build the next house despite him only building in the dead of night. They tell him jokes and laugh at his stories. They invite him out drinking and pretend not to notice how he never touches his glass.

Wolfwood, with no surprise whatsoever to Vash, immediately puts himself to work corralling all the children from Jeneora Rock's orphanage. Meryl picks out an old abandoned post office as a good site for a new childrens' home, and Vash has never seen Wolfwood more determined than when he's repainting the dingy walls a bright, cheerful blue for the kids. 

Days spent in the little town pass through Vash's fingers like water, stretching to weeks, then months. Meryl and Milly have gotten special dispensation from Bernadelli to temporarily relocate to help get the citizens back on their feet, and Meryl even makes a quick trip back to El Pazzo to retrieve their cat. He and Wolfwood take up a shared residence in an apartment building near the outskirts where they can board all the windows shut. Vash stops wearing the hat and not a single person in the town cares that his ears are pointed and his teeth are sharp and he only comes out at night.

The village doesn't have a blood bank but it doesn't matter because every time Vash is hungry Wolfwood is there to offer himself. His blood is strong, vibrant and rich with life, and it sates Vash better and longer than any bagged blood ever could. He's stronger, faster, his senses sharper, his mind clearer. He tries to bite where it won't be so obvious, where he can hide the small, silvery scars his teeth leave - But Vash sinking his fangs into Wolfwood's wrist or inner thigh never fails to lead to other, more exciting and strenuous activities than dinner.

They live in the same house, sleep in the same bed, keep the same hours. They do dishes together. They do laundry together. Wolfwood jokes that if they stay in the town any longer they'll have to start paying taxes, and Vash laughs.

He feels like he'll never have enough time with him.

••• 

"Eriks!" Lina, one of the older children from Jeneora, bounds over to Vash and punches him directly in the arm. "You're late. You missed circle time and I had to read the bedtime story for you." 

"Ow!" Vash pretends like her hit actually hurt, clutching his arm in mock agony as he grins, pushing open the door of the newly christened Jeneora Memorial Orphanage with his shoulder. 

"Hey, blame Nick, not me," he laughs as he makes his way through the supply room. "He didn't wake me when he left. Where is he, anyway?" 

Lina shrugs, picking up one of the boxes of playground equipment and hurrying down the hall, calling over her shoulder. "He said something about a meeting with the mayor? He wanted me to tell you when you came in to meet him at Town Hall." 

Vash groans, sighing and turning on his heel to head right back out the door. He has no idea what the mayor could want that would involve him - Wolfwood had become the defacto leader for anything involving the orphanage, so he could see why she may want to talk with him. But Vash was a nobody - Just the insurance ladies' and priest's weird friend who helped out with whatever needed helping with. 

As he walks across the village to Town Hall, smiling and waving at the people who called his name and shouted a greeting, he feels a nauseating pit of dread growing in his stomach. 

It's a feeling he recognizes all too well. 

The feeling of his time having run out.

••• 

"Hi, Eriks. Mr. Wolfwood," Mayor Yancy greets them kindly, gesturing to the simple wooden chairs in front of her desk. "Thank you for coming on such short notice. Please sit." 

Vash sits as instructed, but Wolfwood remains standing, arms crossed, looking over the rims of his sunglasses at the mayor.

Mayor Yancy is a tall, broad woman, cheeks ruddy from a lifetime of hard work under the suns, with big hands and a warm smile. She'd been one of the first to welcome them to the little hamlet called New Nazareth.

Vash still remembers her first words to him she shook his hand firmly on the first night he'd actually walked unhidden in the town proper. 'Far be it from me to turn away a strong back willing to help out around here.' 

"What's all this about?" Wolfwood gruffs, and Vash can hear his heartbeat pounding, and he knows he feels the same worries he does. Sees the same knife hanging from a thread above both their heads. 

"Do either of you gentleman read the newspaper?" 

Vash is a bit taken aback by the seemingly off topic question, eyes darting from Yancy to Wolfwood, wondering if he's missing some joke.

"Can't say we do." Wolfwood answers for them both, coming to lean against the arm of Vash's chair, pulling his sunglasses off and hanging them from the open collar of his shirt. 

Yancy says nothing, but frowns a little as she reaches into her desk and pulls out a folded newspaper, pushing it across the surface to them. 

"I'm afraid that's nearly three months old. The mail is slow this far into the badlands, if it comes at all..." 

Vash is the first to lean forward and take the paper, slowly unfolding it and ignoring the rusty taste of old pennies in his throat as his nausea grows. 

'VASH THE STAMPEDE WALKS AGAIN!' the headline reads, and somewhere near his shoulder Vash hears Wolfwood growl. 'JENEORA ROCK DESTROYED, TOWNSPEOPLE MISSING - IS IT JULY ALL OVER AGAIN?' 

There's a picture of him. A picture of him from Jeneora, after he'd sent Wolfwood away with the girls. It's blurry, taken with a shaky hand - But it's unmistakably him.

The paper falls out of Vash's hands as his head spins. His fingers curl against his hair, his eyes squeezing shut to force back the tears. 

This can't be happening.

Distantly, he registers Wolfwood ripping the paper in half and throwing it into the trash bin beside Yancy's desk. 

This is happening. 

"Vash," Yancy starts, hesitantly, like she's trying the name out on her tongue.

His head snaps up, and though her face betrays nothing, Yancy's heart speeds up at the tear tracks of blood on his cheeks. 

"We've always known," she says, delicately, as she pulls out a simple wooden pipe from the case on her desk, lighting the tobacco inside with a sigh. "We knew from the start. It... It was pretty obvious. Nobody was brave enough to turn you in, because - Well, you'd just wiped a town off the map. And we're so isolated. If you wanted us dead, the Church would never have been able to get here in time to save us." 

Vash feels Wolfwood's hand descend into his shoulder, gripping him close, thumb rubbing over his back in slow circles, but Wolfwood lets the mayor speak. 

"We were too hasty. You've never done us wrong, only showed us a gratitude I'm not sure we deserved for our judgement, and for that I'm grateful. But..."

There's silence for a moment as Yancy puffs on her pipe, and Wolfwood's fingers dig against the muscle of Vash's shoulder. 

"You want him gone." 

Yancy's lips set in a thin line, but she nods, seeming to appreciate his candor. 

"I don't know what happened in July, or Jeneora. All I know is I don't want it to happen to New Nazareth." 

Vash can't help the fresh tears that spill over his cheeks, but he can't find it within himself to feel any anger towards Yancy. 

"I understand," Vash whispers, familiar pain blooming in his chest.

"Well, I don't!" Wolfwood thunders, standing up from the arm of the chair and rounding on Yancy, fists slamming against her desk. "You give us this bullshit about gratitude and then tell us to fuck off?"

Yancy takes it in stride, though Vash still pulls him back anyway, taking his hand and tugging him away from the desk. 

"Your name wasn't in the paper, Mr. Wolfwood. You're more than welcome to stay, as are your friends. But Vash... I'm sorry." 

Wolfwood laughs then, a humorless bark, teeth gritting. 

"You're cold," he hisses, and Vash locks his arms around Wolfwood's elbows from behind so he can't take a swing at the mayor. "You think I'm stayin' if he leaves? You're insane." 

If Vash's heart beat it would skip at his words. But he simply presses his forehead between his shoulder blades instead, slowly letting his arms go to hug him around the waist. 

"Let it go, Nico," Vash murmurs, giving him a soft squeeze before letting him go, shifting in front of him to face Yancy. 

"Please don't apologize, ma'am. I really do understand. I don't want to see trouble here any more than you do." Vash slides his hand down Wolfwood's wrist, interlacing their fingers, feeling the furious racing of Wolfwood's pulse against Vash's cold skin.

"Thank you so much for your hospitality. It was good to be here," Vash smiles, and he means it, despite the bloody tear tracks still staining his face. "Can we have a little time?" 

Yancy slumps then, her pipe clattering against her desk, eyes briefly closing. It's clear she expected some kind of resistance from him - Something other than quiet acceptance of the inevitable. 

But what else is there to do? Screaming and kicking and digging his heels in and refusing would only bring pain to the humans in New Nazareth, bring danger, bring holy fire on their heads. He knew from the beginning there was no way this little slice of peace he and his friends had carved out could last - It never could. But nine months is a long time, longer than he's had anywhere else. It was a blessing to have even a single night with them.

"I'll give you two days," Yancy states with finality, her jaw set. "If the Church comes, don't expect me to lie about not having seen you. I won't endanger my people like that." 

She sighs, picking her pipe back up and casting him a look through the smoke, a look of sorrow and regret. 

"But I won't endanger you either. Don't tell me where you go, but don't go west - Because if the Church wants your real location, they won't get it from me." 

Vash can feel Wolfwood shaking with barely contained rage beside him, but he nods, leading him by the hand towards the door. 

"Thank you," Vash murmurs, hand lingering on the doorknob, head turning to give the mayor a final soft smile. "Maybe we'll see each other again someday."

Yancy smiles in return, tight and full of anxiety, but genuine in its warmth. "Maybe so, Vash the Stampede." 

••• 

Saying goodbye to Meryl and Milly is hard - But it's something he's has had to do before, and is sure he'll have to do again. 

"You'll write, won't you?" Milly frets as she crushes Vash in a hug, lifting him straight off the ground.

"Of course," he says with a soft laugh as she sets him down, scooping Meryl up into a hug of his own. "I'll see about visiting a little more often once everything dies down, too..." 

"You better," Meryl scolds, but he can tell she's fighting back tears. 

Watching the children tell Wolfwood goodbye is harder. He watches the way he wishes farewell to every single child, the way he remembers all their names. He has to look away as a boy no older than six clings to Wolfwood's leg, begging him to stay. 

"Are you leaving forever?" Lina asks, having come up behind him while Vash was lost in the clutches of his own sorrows. 

He startles a bit, hesitant to respond, fangs worrying his lower lip.

"I hope not," he says slowly, turning to face her. "But I can't say for sure." 

Lina frowns, crossing her arms, giving him a quick once-over. 

"I expected the First Vampire to be a lot scarier than you, you know," she says, and Vash splutters, taken completely off guard. "You're not even that tall." 

His jaw drops and he can't contain the laugh that escapes him, eyes widening as a grin grows on Lina's face. 

"I'm over six feet!" 

Lina shrugs, waving her hand. "Mr. Wolfwood's taller." 

"Seriously?!" 

••• 

They're back on the road in two nights' time, as promised to Mayor Yancy. Meryl and Milly drive with them to the south edge of the Superstitions, then double back to head east towards El Pazzo to throw off any possible tails. 

Vash and Wolfwood spend a week in the mountains, roughing it in caves and caverns, just in case they were followed or spotted. Wolfwood is always a man of few words, but now, he's uncharacteristically quiet. He doesn't even complain about the damp and the cave smell and the fact that a lizard wakes him up in the middle of the day by crawling into his sleeping bag. 

For weeks they dodge around towns and villages, avoiding any human contact, crashing in abandoned buildings during the day and speeding across the deep desert at night. More than once Vash has to use compulsion on a stray group of hunters that almost pass by their hideouts - Telepathically willing them to walk away, this place is empty, there's no sign of him.

He feels terrible about it, but rationalizes it as the only way to keep everyone safe - Himself, Wolfwood, and the hunters. If it came to a fight he's not sure if Wolfwood would let any of the hunters make it out alive.

"Are you okay?" Vash asks quietly as they stand together on a cliff's edge, in a place that's probably somewhere but feels like nowhere. 

Wolfwood shrugs, kicking a loose rock over the cliff and watching it tumble down into the ravine below, hands in his pockets and a cigarette between his teeth. 

"You don't have to do this for me..." Vash trails off, brows furrowing as his hands wring in his lap. "The running, the hiding." 

Wolfwood pulls down his sunglasses - he's started wearing them constantly just in case someone recognizes him - down to raise an eyebrow at Vash, shaking his head slowly. 

"You just don't get it, do ya, Blondie?" Wolfwood laughs a little then, and he sighs, pulling the cigarette from his lips.

He crosses the distance between them, cupping the back of Vash's head and pressing a kiss to his forehead, resting his nose in his hair. He's silent for a long moment, fingers running through the soft down of his freshly re-shorn undercut, before he kisses him again, pushing him away just a bit to start walking back towards the bike. 

"What? What don't I get?" Vash grumbles as he jogs after him, heading for the sidecar - He remembers the argument they had about buying the thing, Wolfwood lamenting it wasn't necessary and Vash putting his foot down, saying he was sick and tired of getting smacked in the face by the Punisher the whole ride.

"Nothin', Blondie. Don't worry your pretty head over it."

••• 

"We might want to split off from this road," Vash muses out loud a few weeks later when they've stopped at an abandoned truck stop, bent over the hood of a rusted old car where he's spread out their map. "We're gonna cut it pretty close to the outskirts of December soon if we keep going this way."

Wolfwood, who had been making himself busy in boredom by pushing Vash up against the hood from behind, kissing up his neck and biting his earring, suddenly freezes against him.

Vash blinks at the abrupt, violent change in his heartbeat, harder than he's heard it in a while. 

"Whoa. Hey, Nick, you okay?" he frowns in concern, lifting his prosthetic to curl it around Wolfwood's neck, kissing his cheek softly. 

"Yeah, I -" He stops, hands curling up where they're both shoved into Vash's back pockets, but Vash can't even take pleasure from the sensation when Wolfwood is in such obvious distress. "How soon, do you think?" 

Vash furrows his brows, glancing at the map, fangs running over his lip in thought.

"Um. Two or three nights, depending on how many times we have to dip off into the flats if we see anybody." 

Wolfwood goes quiet, his heart still fluttering in his chest like a wounded animal. Vash turns around, folding the map to stuff it back in his bag, his hands sliding up to cup Wolfwood's face.

"Hey," he murmurs, thumbs running over his cheekbones as he presses their foreheads together. "Talk to me." 

Wolfwood exhales a shaky breath, his nose bumping over Vash's, hands sliding out of his pockets to wrap around his waist. 

"I'd like to stay on this road, actually," Wolfwood starts, slow and strained, like the words are being pulled from him, but his heartbeat steadily slows into a calmer rhythm as Vash's hands run through his hair, down his back. "There's somethin' in the outskirts I'd like to see. Know we might not come back this way for a long while." 

Vash nods, sliding a hand down the collar of Wolfwood's shirt to rub his shoulder. Wolfwood has never told him where exactly he grew up - But he knew stories of his time in the orphanage, before the Church had handpicked him as potential Eye and thrown him into the gauntlet of priesthood. He knows, by the beat of his heart and the rush of blood in his veins, that December is his home. He doesn't have to say more. 

"Of course," Vash responds immediately, kissing the tip of his nose and smiling at the scowl it elicits from him. "Do you want me to come with you?" 

Wolfwood nods his head, rubbing his thumbs over Vash's hipbones, letting out a heavy exhale of what sounds like relief.

"Just halfway, I think. It's somethin' I mostly gotta do on my own, but..." 

Vash smiles again, a little frisson of happiness thrilling through him at the thought of Wolfwood wanting him near. 

"No, it's okay. I understand. There's plenty of places to hide in the out there. We can set up camp near the border, I'll wait for you there." 

Wolfwood nods, arms wrapping around Vash in a tight hug, folding him nearly in half as he presses him back into the hood. 

"Thank you," Wolfwood says so softly the wind almost steals the words, but Vash hears them.

"Did you just say 'thank you'?" Vash grins as Wolfwood scowls into his neck, laughing when he feels his teeth scrape over his jaw. "I didn't know you could say that!" 

"Cállate de una puta vez," Wolfwood growls as he pulls Vash's pants down his hips, sliding his hand between his legs, and then Vash is making a very different sound than laughter.

Chapter Text

It's a two nights' drive to the outskirts of December. 

Vash scouts out a hiding place as he promised, which isn't too difficult with the amount of ruined, abandoned husks of buildings near the border. 

"You never take me anywhere nice, Nico," Vash jokes as he sets up their sleeping bags in the basement of an old warehouse. 

Wolfwood manages a tight smile at that despite the nervy, aggressive energy that's been running through every inch of his body since the December skyline came into view over the horizon.

"You sure you don't want me to come with you?" Vash asks again, knees pulling up to his chest as he makes himself comfortable, though the moons are still high in the sky. "I don't mind staying here, you know that, just... If you want some company." 

Vash smiles at Wolfwood softly, cheek resting on his knee, and Wolfwood feels his heart twist with a flurry of emotions he's only just recently begun to acknowledge. 

"Thanks, but it's alright. Really." Wolfwood leans down and kisses Vash, then, tongue sliding out just enough to taste his lips before he draws back. "I'll be back by sunrise." 

Vash nods, catching Wolfwood's hand as he straightens back up to kiss his knuckles, linking their fingers for just a breath before he flops down onto the sleeping bag. 

"I'll be here," Vash says with a double thumbs-up, and Wolfwood masks the smile threatening his lips with a roll of his eyes.

"You better be," Wolfwood snorts as he shoulders the Punisher, heading for the stairs to the surface level as Vash's laughter fades behind him.

••• 

Wolfwood slows the bike to a halt as he pulls up to the crumbling ruin of the old orphanage. 

The building is in a spectacular state of disrepair like nearly everything is this close to the border. The sight of his home literally falling apart twists something inside him painfully, but he pushes the thought away. 

Buildings fall apart. So do humans. 

He remembers Livio telling him they'd relocated the orphanage closer to the city center about eight years back, but the building looked as if it had been fighting a losing war with the desert long before that. 

He walks up the remains of the steps, hand brushing over the peeling paint of the door, remembering the last time he walked over this threshold. The boy who left the orphanage and the man returning now feel like two completely different people. He can barely remember the thoughts of the little boy who once ran through these halls, played in these yards.

Wolfwood doesn't know how to feel about that.

Some part of him feels idiotic for even coming here, for digging up the past long after he'd buried it without even a headstone to mark its passing. But when he thought about just driving past December, not acknowledging the gravesite he'd long since abandoned, he felt a strange sense of regret, of finality. He felt like if he didn't make time to go now, he would never get to again.

He stops in what was once the common area, the biggest room in the house and the most popular for the children. He leans the Punisher against the wall, kneeling down to pick up a toy soldier from the sand-covered floor. He tilts the soldier up, his chest constricting as he sees the messy letters carved haphazardly into the base - N.D.W. 

"Those were the days, huh, Nico?" comes a voice from behind him. 

Wolfwood spins around, ripping the belts and sheet off the Punisher before he can even see who's spoken, fingers slotting into the familiar holes of the controls, position switching instantly to the defensive. 

"Is that any way to greet your little brother?" Livio frowns as he steps into common room, moonlight streaming in through the broken windows. 

Wolfwood frowns, his grip on the Punisher loosening, but barely. 

"Livio? What are you doin' here?" 

Livio crosses his arms, shrugging as he slowly walks the perimeter of the room, eyes on his shoes as they kick up the sand coating the floor. 

"I could ask you the same thing. Nobody's heard from you in almost a year, Nick." 

Wolfwood slowly scans the room out of the corners of his eyes, hyper-aware of Livio's movements, the deliberate casuality of his stance. His gaze flicks over the doors, the windows - 

"Countin' exits?" Livio pipes up as he draws nearer to Wolfwood, head tilting as he comes to a stop in front of him. "Why?" 

Wolfwood is breathing hard, then, his heart pounding the dance of a cornered animal, his fingers digging so tightly against the Punisher's grip the metal bites into his skin. 

"Look, Livio, I've been -" 

Livio cuts him off with a humorless laugh, shaking his head as his hands clench into fists against his sides. 

"I really don't want to hear whatever lie you were just about to tell me. Don't patronize me, Nick." 

Livio's hands reach out to him then, and Wolfwood is too taken off guard, too shocked, to react. He growls when Livio yanks his jacket and shirt collar to the side, exposing the silvery scars there, the permanent mark of Vash's teeth embedded into his skin.

Wolfwood jerks away hard, knocking Livio's hands back with a movement that's more punch than shove. "Get the fuck off me." 

Livio is tense all over, hands shaking with rage at Wolfwood's betrayal. 

"Why, Nick? Why would you do this?" his shoulders are shaking, muscles in his jaw clenching, his breath coming in heavy, ragged pants. He's slurring his words, pacing back and forth in agitation, nails digging into his fists, and Wolfwood takes a step back. 

He's known Livio long enough to recognize the signs of Razlo fighting for control. 

"You lied to me. You lied to the Church. You walked into the Grand Cathedral and you lied, in the house of God, about not knowin' anything about Vash the fuckin' Stampede!" 

Wolfwood swings the Punisher behind his back, aiming down the barrel of the machine gun, eyes hyperfocused onto Livio, his breath coming in slow, even. His body is shifting into fight mode, shutting down his nerves, his fear, his panic. He was made for a fight, molded by the Eyes for a fight. The fight is what he knows best.

"Livio," Wolfwood states, and he feels eerily calm as his conditioning kicks in, sanding away the edges of the world until the only thing there is is the barrel of his gun. "There's a lot you don't understand. Let it go. We can both walk out of here tonight." 

"I'm afraid that's not going to be possible," comes a cold voice from the shadows behind Livio. 

Wolfwood draws his handgun immediately, pointing it directly at Chapel as he keeps the Punisher trained on Livio, teeth gritting so hard he feels they may grind to dust. 

"If you tell us where Vash the Stampede is hiding, the Church will grant you clemency and allow you a merciful death upon the pyre. Ill-fitting for a treasonous heretic such as yourself, but, do not it be said the Lord is not without mercy." 

"Burn in hell," Wolfwood hisses, and there is no hesitation in him when he pulls the trigger. 

••• 

Livio jumps in front of the bullet meant for Chapel, and it rips through his thigh. He doesn't react at all as he opens fire on Wolfwood, a telltale sign of being up to his ears in holy water. 

Wolfwood swears and dives out of the room, fingers wrenching the Punisher's trigger as machine gun fire rips through what was once his home, shredding the last of Wolfwood's childhood memories along with it.

Wolfwood is good. He's the best Eye on the planet, the fastest shot, the strongest soldier. But he's out of practice from nine months of the slow life, and his opponent is dosed up with enough stimulants to keep him swinging all night. 

The fight is bloody. It's messy. The orphanage is half-collapsed around them, fire spreading across the sand, black smoke from the rocket launcher blasts choking Wolfwood's eyes and lungs. There's bullet holes in Wolfwood's torso, his arms, his legs. One side of his face is blistered from being too close to a rocket when the shell exploded, his eye swollen and burnt shut. He's running out of time, out of energy. 

A last Hail Mary maneuver of swinging the Punisher's laser beam clear through where he'd last seen Livio's shadow tips the scales, and he hears Livio scream from somewhere in the smoke, and then there's silence. 

Wolfwood collapses against part of a wall that's still standing, forehead slumping against the burning metal of the Punisher, gasping in lungfuls of scorching air. He can barely breathe, much less stand, but Chapel is still around here somewhere if the fucking house didn't fall on him - 

The crack of a sniper echoes from behind, and Wolfwood twists at the last second, the bullet that would have pierced his heart burying itself into his shoulder instead, sending him facedown in the sand. 

"Such a waste," Chapel sneers, voice distant through the haze of smoke and ash. 

Wolfwood hears the sound of him approaching, wheels crunching over glass and wood and plaster. He grits his teeth, forcing himself to roll over on his back, spine arching from the agony of the simple movement. 

For the first time in a long time, Wolfwood realizes he doesn't want to die. Vash's face flashes, unbidden, to the front of his mind. He thinks of his goofy smile, his stupid hair, his bad jokes. Of his cold skin on his own, the sound of his voice calling out his name, his laughter echoing through the night. His unfailing optimism. His undying devotion. 

The realization that he'll never see him again hurts worse than any injury the Church could ever inflict on him.

Chapel grows closer. In the distance, Livio - or maybe Razlo at this point, he has no idea - groans as he wakes back up.

Wolfwood is going to die. 

But he can do it on his own terms, not lying on his back in the sand waiting for an old man to put a bullet between his eyes because he dared to let himself be happy for the first time in his life.

"I'm sorry, Vash," Wolfwood rasps, as he reaches into the hidden pocket in his suit jacket, and pulls out five leather-wrapped vials of holy water.

He hasn't taken a drop since that night at the gas station when he first met Vash, but he kept them close anyway. He was never really sure why - A sick sense of nostalgia? A way to pretend he was still following the oaths of the Church?

It didn't matter now. 

One vial is average, enough to heal a couple fractures. Two is for the shit that would normally put you in a hospital bed. Three is pushing it, three is what you'd take if you were going toe to toe with a methuselah. Four is nearly unheard of, but you could maybe come back from four if you get to a doctor right away. Five is insanity. 

Wolfwood clenches all five vials between his teeth and bites down.

The effect is instantaneous. 

His torn flesh closes itself back up, bullets forced out of his body and dropping into the ground around him. New skin knits across his burns. His broken bones set. His eyes fly open, and he feels like he can see every molecule of sand and smoke in the air. His heartbeat races until all he can hear is the sound of his own pulse. 

Chapel shouts in alarm as Wolfwood rises from the sand, spitting out shards of glass and blood, swinging the Punisher into attack position faster than breathing. Every one of Chapel's shots finds their mark on Wolfwood, but he keeps coming, injuries inflicted by the bullets healing in seconds. 

"What have you done?!" Chapel's voice is a cry of horror as Wolfwood barrels into him, knocking them both to the ground, barrel of the Punisher pressed against his old handler's temple.

"See you in hell," Wolfwood growls before twisting the trigger and preparing to pulverize Chapel's skull.

"No!" a voice shouts from across the wreckage, and Wolfwood instantly knows that it's Razlo who has woken up, not Livio.

Machine gun fire tears through Wolfwood, knocking him backwards off Chapel as Razlo advances. Wolfwood shrugs off the bullets as the wounds close up instantly, growling as he rolls to his feet, swinging the Punisher around to train on Razlo, drawing his handgun on Chapel.

"We'll kill you!" Razlo screams, voice breaking as he fires bullets from all three weapons simultaneously, aiming at nothing in his momentary rage. 

"Countin' on it," Wolfwood spits out a mouthful of blood moments before they collide. 

••• 

It's the smoke that wakes Vash up. 

He's nearly asleep, senses fuzzy around the edges from exhaustion, when the wind shifts, carrying with it the stench of smoke and blood. 

Vash is jolting up from the sleeping bag in seconds, buckling his boots and throwing his coat on so faster than he ever has, panic ripping through his mind like razors. 

The smell is coming from the opposite end of the outskirts, all the way across the city border. Vash had specifically picked a hideout far away from the orphanage at Wolfwood's request, and he curses him with every name he knows for it now as he takes the stairs three at a time, bursting out of the warehouse onto the street above. 

Vash's eyes go immediately to the sky, following the trail of smoke, and his heart drops to his feet as his ears pick up the faint sound of gunfire and rockets. 

Wolfwood took the bike. There's no cars nearby. 

He'll have to run. 

Vash's legs are moving before he's even finished the thought, ragged coattails streaming out behind him as he taps into the well of power within himself he never touches, never acknowledges exists. The Beast hungers to be fully let free, but Vash crushes its will with his own like the Beast is made of glass, focusing solely on the task at hand. Blood sings in his veins as his speed increases to something supernatural, his outline blurring as he runs to Wolfwood. 

He can only hope he isn't too late.

••• 

Vash arrives just in time to see Razlo jam a blade longer than Vash's arm directly through Wolfwood's ribs.

Vash screams as Wolfwood falls to his knees, and he closes the distance between himself and the fight in seconds, grabbing a handful of Razlo's ruined shirt and picking him up as if he weighed nothing, throwing him as hard as he could through of of the last remaining walls. 

"Nicholas! Nicholas, please, no, no," Vash drops to the ground beside him, gathering his body into his arms, and freezes when he sees the nearly foot-long gash Razlo had ripped into him healing up under his fingers. 

Vash's eyes are full of horror as he looks into Wolfwood's face, the sound of his pulse filling his ears. Wolfwood's heart is racing ten times as fast as it ever has, and Vash swears he can hear his body screaming at the effort it's taking to pump blood through his broken body, heal his wounds, power him through this fight. The scent of the holy water ripping through his veins is so strong that Vash's eyes water.

"No," Vash whispers, voice cracking as his arms go around Wolfwood, pulling him against his chest, fingers bunching up in his ruined jacket. "No." 

Wolfwood hugs Vash back immediately, but his movements are too fast, too jerky, his breath coming in inhumanly quick gasps, his pupils too wide. 

"I did it the easy way," Wolfwood rasps, tone thick with the echo of their argument from what feels like so, so long ago and Vash lets out a wordless wail that he can no longer restrain. 

From somewhere behind them, there's the sound of furious growling as Razlo clambors over a broken piece of wall, lifting his Punisher to aim directly at Vash. 

"Two for the price of one," Razlo howls through broken teeth. 

Vash whirls around, markings on his skin instantly ablaze with white light as he holds up a single hand, voice raising above the wind and the fire as he levels his eyes directly on Razlo, staring down the barrel of his Punisher. 

"Stop," Vash commands.

Razlo freezes instantly. 

"Put your gun down." 

Razlo lets the Punisher fall to the ground, eyes staring blankly ahead, seeing nothing. 

"Go to sleep." 

Razlo drops to the ground where he stands, asleep in seconds. 

Vash turns back around to Wolfwood as soon as Razlo is down, the light of his markings dimming as he goes to help Wolfwood to his feet, startling when he sees he's standing without help. 

Vash takes in the scene before them with wide eyes, hands shaking a little as he sees the blood, the destruction, Chapel's body lying broken beyond repair across the yard. 

"Nicholas," Vash whispers in horror as Wolfwood limps into what Vash can only guess used to be a living room, and sits down hard on the couch, the only remaining piece of furniture still standing. 

"What happened?" Vash follows Wolfwood gingerly through the rubble, sitting next to him because he doesn't know what else to do. "What happened here?" 

Wolfwood slumps back against the cushions, arms stretching over the back of the couch as he lets his head tilt back, exhaling slow and hard. 

"I fucked up," Wolfwood states simply, closing his eyes as the cold desert wind blows over his overheated skin, so hot to the touch Vash can feel it just from their proximity. "They knew about us. About me. Probably for a long time, too." 

Wolfwood sucks air in through his teeth, and Vash stays silent, unable to speak through his despair. 

"There was never any chance of me makin' it out of this alive," Wolfwood rolls his jaw, finally looking at Vash, and his eyes are so full of bleak acceptance that Vash feels his heart break in two. "You know that, right?" 

The way he says it, Vash isn't sure if he means the fight or their time together. Vash isn't sure if Wolfwood even knows which way he meant it. 

"Do you remember what you said to me when we first met? You said the world was made for love and peace. That it was a beautiful place." Wolfwood turns his head to look at Vash, eyes searching over every inch of his face like he wants to memorize it. "Thought you were so full of shit. But sometimes - Sometimes I think you're not so wrong." 

A whimper is all that escapes Vash. That's all he can manage, feeling like he's going to shatter into a million pieces as he listens to Wolfwood's heart pound out his elegy. 

"I've spent most of my life not carin' if I lived or died." Wolfwood swallows, one hand reaching up to the sky as if he could touch the stars, fingers curling against the dark blue blanket of the night. "I didn't have anythin' to live for." Wolfwood sighs then, soft and tired, as he turns a faint smile onto Vash. "But I finally found somethin' worth dyin' for." 

Vash throws his arms around Wolfwood, pulling his battered, broken, overheated body against his, burying his head against his shoulder, feeling himself melt into Wolfwood's embrace. He buries his head against his chest, trembling, and there's silence between them for long moments.

"I remember I said something else to you when we first met, too," Vash whispers, finally, voice so soft he thinks if Wolfwood's senses hadn't been kicked to overdrive he may have missed it. "You asked me if I would ever Turn someone. I said - I said only... Only if they were dying, to save their life," 

Wolfwood's arms are around Vash, his fingers stroking through his hair, uncharacteristically gentle, but he stops moving when he hears Vash's words. 

"I would never - I would never do it if you didn't want me to. I'd understand. I want you to know that," Vash's voice slowly steadies as he draws back from Wolfwood enough to look him in the eye, fingers ghosting over his jaw, hand only barely shaking. 

"But if you wanted me to..." Vash trails off, touch sliding down until his fingers are resting right over Wolfwood's heart, feeling it pound beneath his fingertips. "You've saved my life so many times. I can finally save yours," 

Wolfwood's lips part as their eyes connect, and Vash can feel his pulse begin to decline, slowly but surely. He knows Wolfwood feels it too, in the slight shake of his hands, the sweat rising on his brow. 

"Does it hurt? The Change?" Wolfwood whispers, and Vash shakes his head, hand sliding up to rub his shoulder, softly, soothingly.

"No. It's like going to sleep." 

Wolfwood's hand raises to the cross pendant against his chest, fingers twining in the chain as he pulls it from his neck, lifting it to eye level so he can stare at it like it holds the answers. 

He swallows hard, fingers curling around the cross, feeling the metal edges bite into his skin, and he slowly nods, eyes looking up to Vash.

"Do it." 

••• 

The process is much less violent than Wolfwood ever thought it would be. 

Vash brings his own wrist to his mouth and bites his flesh open, cradling the back of Wolfwood's head as he presses his wrist softly to his lips, spilling his blood down Wolfwood's throat. 

"That's it?" he asks after Vash pulls his wrist back, licking the wound on his own skin closed. 

Vash smiles at him, a soft laugh bubbling up in his throat. 

"It's honestly pretty simple... If you die with enough vampire blood in your system, instead of truly passing, you'll Turn." 

Wolfwood nods, head spinning with the metallic taste of Vash's blood still on his mouth, his tongue darting out to wet his dry lips. 

"And I'm already dyin'." 

Vash nods back, hand reaching out to link their fingers together, gripping their palms together close. 

"Most vampires snap the necks or slit the throat of the people they're Turning. This..." Vash trails off, looking up into the stars. "This just seemed more peaceful."

"You'll stay with me? 'Til the end?" 

Vash leans in and kisses Wolfwood then, so softly, and Wolfwood pulls him closer until their shoulders are touching, their joined hands resting on Vash's thigh.

"Always." 

Wolfwood swallows hard, eyes gazing out into the distant horizon where the very first pink fingers of dawn are starting to creep over the void of night. 

"Can we stay here? I want to watch the suns rise one last time." 

Vash nods, curling their arms together as he leans down to rest his head on Wolfwood's shoulder. 

"That sounds nice." 

Wolfwood tightens his grip on Vash's hand, cheek coming to rest against Vash's hair. They sit together on that couch in the ruined husk of the orphanage, watching the first sun slowly crest the horizon, turning everything pale pink, and orange, and purple. 

Wolfwood's eyes slip shut as his pulse drops, his heart failing as the second sun rises, bathing the world in the warm glow of dawn. The last thing he sees before he dies is Vash's wings extending as a pale white barrier forms around the two of them, the roots of his hair slowly turning black as he protects them from the light of the suns.

Chapter Text

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty," Vash's voice whispers from above him. 

Wolfwood's eyes shoot open as he sits up with a shout, hands flying to his throat as he struggles to take in air, gasping ineffectually for breath.

"Whoa! Whoa, hey, Nico!" Vash grabs onto his wrists, pulling them away from his neck, and Wolfwood is shocked to find that for the first time, he's strong enough to break Vash's grasp if he wants to. "Hey, calm down. You... You don't actually have to breathe anymore. Your body's just not used to that." 

Wolfwood slowly lowers his hands and relaxes into Vash's grip, mouth slowly opening and closing as he realizes that Vash is right - There's simply no longer a biological need to take in air. 

Wolfwood blinks slowly as Vash lets go of his wrists and stands back a little, a nervous smile on his face as he wrings his hands. 

"How do you feel? Are you okay? Nothing out of place?" 

Wolfwood slowly swings his legs over the side of the bed, barely processing the fact that he's in a real, actual bed, as he stands up, looking down at himself for the first time.

"Why am I naked?" 

Vash makes an undignified noise, throwing his hands into the air in exasperation. 

"That's what you're worried about?!" 

Wolfwood gives him a shaky grin as he walks to the full length-mirror in the corner of the room, hand reaching out and slowly touching the glass. He can see every scar on his body in hyper-realistic detail, hear the sound of the wind outside and a bird call a mile away, feel every individual carpet fiber beneath his feet. 

"Your clothes were destroyed from the fighting. And your shirt, it - It caught on fire when you were Turning, so I just threw everything on the pile and burned it all." 

Wolfwood blinks, meeting Vash's eyes in the mirror with an incredulous look, brow raising. 

"My shirt caught on fire?" 

Vash sits down on the edge of the bed with a sigh, nodding as he twists his boot anxiously against the floor. 

"Because of your tattoo. The Turn burnt it off of you... I'm sorry. I honestly didn't know that would happen." 

Wolfwood swivels at the waist, lips parting when he sees that, true to Vash's word, the thick lines of the cross that had been inked across his entire back are gone. In its place are deep, ropy burn scars in the exact shape of the cross. 

"Jesus," Wolfwood whispers as he takes in the sight, and flinches as the name burns his tongue, sending a hot spear of pain the through his brain.

"Don't - !" Vash starts, and sighs again when he doesn't speak fast enough, his arms crossing over his chest tightly as his fangs worry his bottom lip. "You can't, um, take the Lord's name in vain anymore. Surprise." 

Wolfwood laughs, rubbing his hands over his face to knead away the headache, pausing when he feels the shape of his mouth, leaning closer to the mirror to pull up his lip, examining his newly grown canines.

"You can say it," Wolfwood mutters grumpily as he runs his tongue over his fangs, testing their sharpness. 

"Because I am God's most favorite and special abomination," Vash retorts, falling back onto the bed with an exhale of what sounds like relief, a smile in his voice. 

"You're just gonna keep sayin' it to piss me off, aren't you?" Wolfwood groans as Vash grins wickedly, propping up on his elbows. 

"Maybe." 

"I like what you've done with your hair," Wolfwood's gaze shifts to Vash's through the mirror again - Eyes straying to the new shock of black stretching up from Vash's roots, streaking through the blonde, the very crown of his head all that remains of the sunshine color. "But any more and I'll have to quit callin' you Blondie." 

Vash grins, hand rising to his hair self-consciously, and Wolfwood remembers Vash's wings curving around him, white light streaming from the markings on his skin as he shielded them from the sun. He wonders how much power that took.

"It was worth it," Vash murmurs, fingers curling through a remaining blonde lock, and Wolfwood swears his no-longer-pulsing heart skips a beat.

"I got a lot of questions," Wolfwood starts as he turns away from the mirror, dropping down onto the bed beside Vash. 

"They can wait. Right now we need to get you fed before the shock wears off and you realize how hungry you are." 

Wolfwood pauses where he'd been running his fingers down Vash's chest, pulling up his shirt slowly to take him in with his new eyes, his new touch ghosting over the scars marring his torso. 

"Oh. Yeah. My gums hurt." Wolfwood nudges them with his tongue experimentally, wincing at the contact. 

"Stop thinking about it! You'll make it worse!" 

"How exactly am I not supposed to think about it?" Wolfwood snaps, but there's no real venom in it, despite the growing pins and needles throughout his body as his hunger sets in. "I don't suppose you went on a blood run while I was out of it?" 

Vash looks guilty then, fidgeting where he lays on the bed, voice dropping to a mumble. 

"I didn't want to leave you and be gone when you woke up..." he bites his lip, speaking quickly before Wolfwood has the chance to interrupt. "But don't worry. Now that you're awake I can go find some. But in the meantime..." 

Vash trails off as he shrugs off his coat, arms crossing over his torso as he strips off his shirt, dropping them both to the floor beside the bed, holding a hand out to Wolfwood. 

"In the meantime, vampire blood is going to have to tide you over. It won't be as filling as human, but, until we can get some for you -" 

Wolfwood is on Vash before he even has a chance to finish speaking, hands running up his sides to pin his wrists to the bed over his head, grinning predatorily down at him. 

"Don't you just think of everything," he murmurs before he buries his head into Vash's neck, fangs sinking deep into his skin, and the moan that comes from Vash is almost more delicious than his blood. 

••• 

"Fifty bucks says you can't make it to the top of that ridge before I do." 

"It's a half mile away and you don't even have fifty bucks. We've been flat broke since Cheyenne." 

"My next fifty bucks, then. Half a mile is nothin'. Are you just gettin' old?"

"Hey, you'll be old as me before you know it. And how about you actually make the money before you start wasting it?"

"Vete al carajo. God, you're no fun - Shit, ow." 

"Ha! You said it again. That's a double dollar in the Christ jar." 

"First one to find us a job in Little Jersey doesn't have to put a double dollar in the C - In the jar." 

"Sure, I'll take that bet. Still wanna race?" 

"How long til sunrise?" 

"About half an hour." 

"So we'd be racin' the sun, really, not just each other."

"Eh. No different than any other night."

Wolfwood grins slowly, teeth glinting white in the moonlight as he pulls Vash to him by the coat collar for a kiss, lingering on the feeling their fangs brushing against each other's tongues.

"You're on." 

•••

the end