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Woolfwood stumbled behind cover, the Punisher clanging to the ground next to him. He cursed, watching blood ooze out of the wound in his left thigh. Any lower and the bullet would have shattered his kneecap. As it was, it hurt like a bitch but was ultimately fixable. At least enough to get him and his idiot ward as far away from this hell hole as possible, stat.
He took out a little blue vial out of his breast pocket and put it between his lips, wishing it was a cigarette instead. He was running out of these faster than expected. Turned out staying alive was much harder when you were stuck trying to make sure a guy with six million double dollars on his head not only actively seeked out trouble but also refused to shoot back at any of the people that were trying to kill him.
Woolfwood hefted the Punisher into his lap, gripping onto the cross and attempting to relax his jaw enough not to shatter the very fragile glass currently in his mouth. He could already feel the wound in his leg closing, muscle tying itself back together. It wasn't exactly pleasant but he's been through worse. Now that the pain was waning he dared to peek past the safety of his cover to try and locate a splash of red among the rust and sand of the settlement they were stuck in.
There was a shot, loud and bellowing and Wolfwood could hear it wheezing inches away from his head as he scrambled back behind the wall. He gulped, heart hammering against his ribcage. Okay, so the gal did in fact know how to use that rifle of hers and the bullet in his leg wasn't just a lucky break.
"Come on out, sweetheart," the hunter drawled almost lazily from her perch somewhere high above him. Wolfwood could just barely distinguish the click of a reloading gun. He didn’t manage to get a good look at their assailant, she was wrapped head to toe in brown leather, but what he could tell was that she was a decent shot. Real decent, according to his leg. "We can split the prize money. What do you say?"
"You just tried to put a bullet in my head so sorry, but I'll have to pass!" he bellowed back, rising to his feet. His left thigh protested the movement but the pain was manageable. Gotta find Spikey and get the hell out of here.
"Aww, lamb, I'm just toying with you. All you hafta do is point me in the direction of our expensive friend and I'll be out of your hair."
The empty streets echoed with that smug voice, making it impossible to pinpoint where exactly it was coming from, other than up. Shit, was she getting closer? Wolfwood was a sitting duck here. But he still hasn’t caught a glimpse of the familiar red coat anywhere. He considered for a moment if he was desperate enough at this point to just call out Vash’s name.
He was saved from having to make that decision by another shot, this one substantially quieter than the heavy rifle his leg had the displeasure of getting acquainted with. There was a sound of metal hitting metal and then Wolfwood was being pulled along the winding streets, Vash's hand tightly clasped around one of his arms not currently occupied by the Punisher.
"You got her?" he asked between gasps.
Vash flashed him an apologetic smile, like he knew Wolfwood wouldn't like the answer.
“I got her gun?”
He groaned, for once pained for a different reason than his leg begging him to slow down as they dashed through the narrow alleys.
"Vash, for fuck's sake, she is trying to kill us! She tried to kill Shortie and Rob before they hauled ass in the truck!"
"I know, I know! Look, there's a thomas ranch at the edge of the town. All we have to do is get there and-"
Another bullet kicked up the sand next to their feet and Vash spun around, gun suddenly in hand. Wolfwood chanced a look behind him, barely able to distinguish the shape of their pursuer high up on the roof of one of the buildings. He watched Vash make a shot that shouldn't be possible at this range, and heard rather than saw the clatter of a rifle hitting the ground in the distance. He felt anger simmer in his gut.
"You idiot, shoot her, not the gun. She's just going to pick it up again!"
"Sorry," Vash grabbed his arm and pulled him forward, where he could already see the spooked birds looking their way. "Looks like I missed."
"No you didn't!"
They were both wheezing by the time they reached the ranch. Shit, none of the birds were saddled up. Wolfwood was not looking forward to riding bareback while nursing a bullet wound. Then there were the logistics of trying to get on a thomas with his Punisher. This was why he preferred bikes.
"See, made it here in one piece," Vash smiled unevenly, a sort of manic tinge to his voice, like he was convincing himself as much as Wolfwood. He leveled him with an unimpressed glare, motioning to his blood-soaked pant leg. Vash's face immediately fell, the smile replaced by a look of alarm. It would have been endearing, how much he cared, if Wolfwood wasn't still pissed about how unnecessary all of this was. How utterly avoidable this entire chase scene could have been.
He was opening his mouth to chew Vash out for just that when he was tackled to the ground, a second before two bullets pierced the air where they've been.
Wolfwood hit the ground hard, feeling Vash drape himself over his back to shield him from any further shots. It just made him angrier. He could see from where he was laying on the ground that the hunter was much closer now and currently reloading with the kind of unbothered laziness of someone convinced they've already won. Her face was covered with dark cloth and her eyes were barely visible from underneath a wide brimmed hat.
"Enough's enough." He growled and threw Vash off of him, earning a disgruntled yelp. His hand found the familiar handle in the center of his Punisher and he spun the cross around to bring its large muzzle to face the hunter who was suddenly no longer so unhurried about getting her gun ready again.
Wolfwood snarled, feeling the weapon buzz to life where it was slung over his shoulder, green light casting shadows around them in the already waning glow of the setting suns. It illuminated their pursuer's face for a short moment and he could see fear etch itself slowly into her features. It was apparent now that she was more prosthetic limbs and wires than proper skin, but the metal still managed to convey the expression of someone who is slowly realizing they're about to die.
"Don't!"
Wolfwood's arm was yanked up and he watched the green beam pierce the darkening sky instead of his target. Who immediately realized she's just been given a chance and was already aiming down at them again, the rifle close to her cheek. Wolfwood barely managed to swing the Punisher back down to block the shot, feeling it reverberate throughout the metal frame.
He turned to glare at Vash for doing something this stupid but he was already running past him, charging the hunter. She hip fired once, twice, no longer bothering to aim at this range. Wolfwood watched as Vash dodged both bullets with the kind of speed that made you dizzy trying to follow the movements. Then he was on her, gun wielded in such a way that Wolfwood knew he was about to try and knock her out. He didn't bother firing up the Punisher again, wouldn't want to risk accidentally hitting him, no matter how much he'd like to right now.
The barrel of Vash's gun cracked on the back of the hunter's skull with a clang. A distinct, metal sound. Wolfwood saw Vash freeze for a second as he processed the very much not knocked out opponent in front of him.
"Got a pretty sturdy skull, love," the hunter said before headbutting Vash. He seemed more shocked than actually hurt but the moment of inaction was all it took for a rusty metal hand to grab him by the hair and slam his head into the nearest wall. Chunks of it splintered from the force of the impact and fell to the ground with a clutter. Vash gasped in pain and Wolfwood felt his previous anger morph into panic.
He hefted the Punisher up again and leveled it at the hunter who was now holding up Vash's head against the indent in the wall, watching him wearily. For a few seconds, there was just the sound of three sets of ragged breaths.
"Now then, I'm sure we can talk this out-" Vash's head made contact with the wall again, a resounding crack that made Wolfwood wince.
"That's enough out of you, sweetheart." The hunter kept her eyes trained on him, not bothering to look down at where her bounty has started to bleed against the wall from where the skin was split by stone. The cloth covering her face slid down to rest around her neck exposing what looked like a metal skull more than a face.
"My offer still stands, y'know. I'm not here for you, lamb, just your friend. You could walk away."
Wolfwood kept both his gaze and Punisher's muzzle trained on the hunter. He wouldn't miss but he didn't want to chance her using Vash as a shield.
"Wolfwood."
His eyes snapped to where Vash's face was pressed against the wall. Blood streamed down his face and his eyes looked unfocused. Shit, he was more resistant than your average person but he might not be impervious to getting concussed. Still, it didn't stop him from flashing a smile, small and desperate and so obviously trying to appear confident.
"It's okay. You can go."
Wolfwood breathed heavily, feeling the burn in his leg more acutely the longer he stood there. He looked into Vash's eyes, and there was no judgment there. He wouldn't fault him for leaving, wouldn't mind this woman bashing his head in several more times if it meant no one had to die here. And he'd do it with that same sad smile on his face he was giving him right now, all reassurance and understanding.
Wolfwood gripped the Punisher harder. He couldn't leave. Not when the lives of his kids were dependent on him keeping this fool alive. This was a job, same as any other. It was as simple as that.
(And maybe he actually started to like said fool. He was infuriating to deal with and naive in a way Wolfwood couldn't understand someone this old, someone who was hurt so much, being. But God, it's been a long time since anyone looked at him like this, like he was a good person. Like he was more than the blood on his hands. He was still doing this for the kids but perhaps at some point they stopped being his only incentive in making sure Vash the Stampede was alive and breathing).
Wolfwood exhaled slowly, steadily and murmured:
"Sorry, Spikey."
Metal or no, the Punisher’s beam slid through the hunter’s skull with barely any resistance. There was no scream, no struggle. Her face barely registered shock and then she was crumbling down like a doll with cut strings, the hand holding onto Vash going limp. He lunged after her, misery twisting his face as he tried to keep both of them upright on shaky legs.
Wolfwood let his cross fall to the ground with a heavy thud, leaning on it for support. He allowed himself a moment of relief now that it was over. Any satisfaction he could have gotten from a frankly pretty solid shot considering the circumstances was erased by the uncomfortable twist in his gut at seeing Vash fretting over a corpse of someone who was threatening to smash his head into a pulp mere seconds ago. He jammed a cigarette between his teeth, pretended his hands weren’t shaking as he lit it and got to wrapping up the Punisher. He could hear Vash babbling something not addressed to him behind his back but chose to tune it out. He focused on the repetitive motion of winding cloth around metal, the smoke filling his lungs.
Once he was done Wolfwood jammed the wrapped up cross into the soft sand and turned to assess the state of his ward. He was slumped against the wall, head still bleeding sluggishly down his temple. Had it been anyone else, Wolfwood would have worried about things like brain damage or bleeding to death. But for Vash this would mean a slight concussion and a couple of hours of headache at best. He certainly looked out of it, expression blank, eyes staring at something only he could see. As Wolfwood came closer he could hear him mumbling something intelligible. He sighed, took a last, long drag of his cigarette and threw it to the ground before putting it out with his heel.
“Sorry. I’m sorry… Rem…” He didn’t look quite coherent and didn’t seem aware of the fact Wolfwood had approached him. The hunter’s corpse was laying at his feet, a pool of blood slowly soaking into the sand. Vash was still holding onto one of her arms after trying and failing to keep them both upright.
Okay, so maybe the damage to his head was worse than anticipated. Wolfwood crouched next to him with a grunt, doing his best to ignore the pain in his thigh. He put what he hoped was a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
“Oi, Spikey, we gotta get out of here. Can you walk?” There wasn’t anyone left in this little settlement to bother them, but who knew when someone would turn up, alerted by the sounds of a firefight. Some of the birds scattered when the hunter’s shots hit too close to their enclosure but there were still a couple that looked docile enough to at least get them out of town and into some safe outcrop in the desert they could camp down in and lick their wounds.
Vash looked up at him slowly, and for a split-second Wolfwood expected to see anger, same as when he put that kid out of his misery in the windmill village. He felt his hackles rise, not really in a mood for another fight while they were both hurt and the body of their pursuer was still cooling down right next to them. They could argue over petty morals once they’ve patched themselves up.
But then Vash’s expression crumpled, his hand leaving the hunter’s to fist in the lapel of his jacket instead. “I’m sorry,” he sounded almost like he was pleading and Wolfwood wasn’t quite sure if this was meant for him or whoever he was talking to before.
“Yeah, okay. You are definitely concussed.” Wolfwood closed his eyes and slid a hand down his face with a sigh. He ignored Vash’s continued apologies and pried his hand away from his suit to sling it over his shoulders instead and hoist him up. He went willingly, although shakily, and Wolfwood cursed trying to balance both of them on his own unsteady legs. His thigh was not appreciating the extra weight. Vash was built like a twig and most of his bulk was due to the prosthetic but he was taller than Wolfwood, all legs and long limbs that made dragging him around in his current state less than ideal. His temple was pressed into the side of Wolfwood’s head and he could feel the blood there smearing into his hair. Vash wouldn’t die from this but the blood loss was most likely not helping with the concussion.
They weren’t in any shape to ride a thomas as it was, so Wolfwood settled for bunkering down in the ranch house for now. It wasn’t exactly safe and he’d prefer to get the hell out of here as soon as possible but there was no way to do that unless Meryl and Roberto decided to miraculously come back to their rescue, which he seriously doubted. They had bounties on their heads too, after sticking by Vash for this long and so the idiot decided to draw the fire of their assailant while they made a break for it. And Wolfwood stayed with him because…what? Because it was his job? He had lives of children riding on his ability to keep the most self-sacrificing dolt on this backwater planet alive and said dolt seemed determined to try and make it harder for him every step of the way.
But also maybe because seeing someone who has clearly been hurt and betrayed and dragged through the mud by both friends and enemies alike and still turn the other cheek made Wolfwood believe that maybe, maybe, there was some good left in this world. It was endlessly infuriating, because he knew that most people couldn’t afford that, couldn’t dabble into pacifism and altruism and bullshit ideas that got you robbed and killed. You either learned your lesson and got your hands dirty like the rest of them, or you died alone in a ditch somewhere. Or the choice was taken away from you as a child, and you were forced into a lab where they beat it into your head as you screamed your throat raw on the operating table.
Vash made him bitter. For all the things he could get away with, for the empty veneer of heroism that hurt more people than it helped. For the hypocrisy of it all, a thing that was not human trying so desperately to mimic all the traits that have been beaten out of humanity one by one ever since they crashed into this blasted space rock. He wanted so badly to just be able to hate him, and sometimes he felt like he could.
But for all of that, Vash the Stampede also made him hopeful, and wasn’t that a novel fucking concept. He looked at Wolfwood like he was a person when he wouldn’t count himself as one for a long time now. He might not look like Rollo did, but he had no doubts about his own monstrosity. His was wrapped in a neater looking package, sure, but it was still very much there. And Vash looked at him, really looked at him, past the sunglasses and the sneer right to his core and decided that Wolfwood was, what? A good person? He wasn’t, but it felt nice to have someone look at you like you were. And maybe it was this kind of selfishness that made him set Vash down gently on the rackety little bed in the abandoned ranch house, carefully prying his hands away from his jacket. He stopped apologizing some time ago but there was still a not quite there look in his eyes and he made a desperate little noise in his throat when Wolfwood tried to unwrap himself from him to go look for bandages.
“C’mon, Spikey, let me go. I need to patch us both up and I can’t fuckin’ do that with you hangin’ off of me the entire time,” he growled, immediately regretting it after seeing Vash’s wound expression but he was at the end of his rope here. Now that the adrenaline was leaving his system the pain in his leg had gone from manageable to something he could no longer ignore and he just wanted to get them both cleaned up and finally sit down. And maybe smoke an entire pack of cigs he’d stolen from Roberto before all hell broke loose.
Vash looked more coherent than he had back outside. He seemed to at least recognize that Wolfwood was speaking to him, which was better than him mumbling things that were clearly meant for someone else. He bit his lip and Wolfwood caught a flash of fang, another reminder of what exactly he was dealing with.
“Will you leave?” he asked, voice tiny, like he was afraid of the answer. It made something in Wolfwood’s chest that he hasn’t felt in a long time spring to life and he swallowed, suddenly unsure of what it was exactly that he was being asked of. Vash wasn't one for asking people to stay, hell, half the time they had to make sure he didn't make a break for it in the middle of the night. Whatever memories their fight had stirred up in his head, they've clearly shaken him up quite badly.
"I'm just gonna go grab some bandages," Wolfwood said, trying for comfort but ending up sounding closer to an annoyed rumble. "I'm not going anywhere, okay? Just to the bathroom," he gestured with his head to the room behind him, in clear line of sight from where Vash was half laying on the bed and half hanging off of Wolfwood’s suit jacket. “You’ll be able to see me the entire time.”
Vash hesitated for a moment, eyes flashing to the dingy little bathroom and then back up at him, before slowly letting go with a pained expression. “Sorry,” he said again, closing his eyes and reclining back against the pillows. Whoever owned these was never going to get the bloodstains out.
“Sorriest thing I’ve ever seen,” Wolfwood sighed, but he let his hand rest on Vash’s stretched out leg for a moment in what he hoped would be a reassuring gesture before limping into the bathroom.
He rifled through the cupboards and managed to find bandages and a bottle of what a quick sniff confirmed was some kind of rubbing alcohol. The sink also turned out to have running water. Not clean, mind you, but it would do. There were many things the two of them had to worry about but thankfully infections weren’t among them. He grabbed a dusty towel from one of the shelves, shook it out and soaked it in warm water.
He didn’t bother wrapping his own thigh up, it wasn’t bleeding anymore and he knew from experience the wound would be as good as gone in a couple of hours, it was just going to hurt for a time. Plant biology was supposedly even better at rapid healing but Vash in the other room still looked vaguely out of it. He must have taken off his glasses which now rested on the small bedside table, somehow remaining unbroken throughout their encounter with the hunter. He hasn’t opened his eyes since Wolfwood set him down but there was a pained pinch to his brow. The right side of his face was almost completely caked in blood and still sported some wall chunks from when his face collided with it.
Vash’s eyes snapped open when Wolfwood dragged a chair to the front of the bed and settled into it with a grunt, facing him. He put the bandages and the alcohol on the bedside table. He reached for Vash’s face, towel in hand, intending to get the blood off of his face first but was stopped by bottle-green fingers grabbing his own.
“You’re hurt,” he said, looking at his bloodied pant leg in worry.
“Yeah, and whose fault is that?” Wolfwood grumbled back. It was mean and spiteful, fueled by exhaustion that has slowly begun to creep up on him. He regretted saying it almost immediately as Vash’s face crumpled. He quickly retreated his hand and hunched in on himself, looking away. Wolfwood sighed and got to carefully wiping at the mess on his face, sliding his fingers gently over Vash’s nape to keep his head steady. He couldn’t quite bring himself to apologize but he could do this, at least.
Vash stayed silent as Wolfwood worked, barely even flinching as he swiped the blood to reveal what should have definitely been a lethal wound at his temple. A wide gash sat just below his hairline. It wasn't bleeding as much as just oozing slowly, his body already working on patching itself back up. Still, might as well do this properly, Wolfwood thought, grabbing the rubbing alcohol. He wiggled the bottle in front of Vash’s eyes who grimaced but nodded and tilted his head to give him better access. He still didn’t make any noise as it was poured over the wound, just closed his eyes and breathed out a shaky sigh. Wolfwood bandaged his head after that, his hands steady for once with the familiar movements.
“Okay,” he said once he was done, setting the medical supplies back down and taking out a cigarette instead. “Explain.”
Vash watched as Wolfwood took out a lighter and lit it, letting the smoke fill his lungs and make the stress seep out of his body alongside the curling mist.
“I’m not really sure what you’re asking me here,” Vash smiled apologetically and maybe if he wasn’t in such shit condition it would have looked more convincing.
“I get risking your life for Rob and Shortie,” he jabbed his cigarette at Vash, “I get wanting to save the kid, even if it was misguided and stupid. But what I don’t get is why the hell would you care about a random bounty hunter that was actively trying to kill you.”
Vash grimaced, pulling his legs up to his chin, looking anywhere but at Wolfwood. “She didn’t deserve to die.”
“Maybe.” He flicked the ash to the wooden floorboards below. “Do you?”
Vash huffed, looking at him with a frown. “What kind of question is that?”
“A real simple one,” Wolfwood smiled at him with no humor. “It’s either you or her, so tell me, Spiky, which one deserves to die more?”
“That’s not for us to decide," he replied, affronted.
Wolfwood scoffed. “You say that and then you go into every battle with your mind already made up.”
Vash seemed to deflate at that, hugging his knees close to his chest. It didn’t feel good, seeing him like this. But it beat seeing him throw his life away for some empty ideals. “People are good,” he said finally. Wolfwood wondered if he actually believed it or was trying to convince himself it was true. “They can always choose to be good. But they need the chance to do so first.”
He took a long drag and held it in until his lungs burned with it. “You actually believe that?”
Vash turned to look at him, his blue eyes hard as steel and Wolfwood couldn't help but feel like the next word was for him and not all those hypothetical people.
“Yes.”
He released his breath, smoke curling up to the ceiling, watching Vash with a considering tilt to his head. The lack of glasses really brought home just how unnaturally blue they were.
"You do realize that this kinda thinking is what gets your head smashed into pulp?"
Vash smiled, sad. It was hard to look at him when he did that and Wolfwood stared at where the ash had started to collect between his feet instead.
"Yeah," he said. "But it also gets me a friend to make sure my brain doesn't spill out of my skull afterwards."
Wolfwood raised his eyebrow at him. "Are we friends?"
"I'd like to think so." This time the tilt to his mouth seemed more like a real smile than a grimace.
For a second Wolfwood considered telling him. That they weren’t friends, that he was only keeping him alive because it was his job. That there will come a time where Vash will be hurt much worse than today by the people Wolfwood was working for and he'd stand on the side and watch.
Except he already knew all of that, didn't he. Maybe not the fine details, but enough to figure it out. He was practically handing him a knife and asking him not to stab it though his heart. Trusting Wolfwood not to do it. And the worst thing was, he was starting to dread the moment his hand would be forced. It was just a job, at first, but now it felt more like an inevitability.
But for now Wolfwood was still afforded the choice. So he took a last long drag, stamped out the rest of the cigarette on his heel and rose with a pained grunt.
"C’mon, scoot over."
Vash blinked at him for a second, uncomprehending, before moving to the other side of the bed. Wolfwood let himself sink into the mattress next to him. It was definitely not made to accommodate two grown men, especially when one of them was seventy percent legs. They ended up pressed together, Vash’s flesh hand pressed into his side. He ran hot, heat radiating off of him in the coldness of what was slowly morphing into the desert night. The suns were already gone behind the horizon, leaving the two of them in the dim. It made everything softer, less pronounced and like this Wolfwood allowed himself to close his eyes and relax into the cushions, listening to Vash’s steady breaths next to him, feeling the thrum of his body next to his. He didn’t have a heartbeat, not really. It felt more like standing right next to a generator, like hovering your hand dangerously close to a live wire. Apparently Wolfwood was eager to get electrocuted.
“I’m not leaving.”
He felt Vash squirm on the bed, could feel his gaze boring into him even with his eyes closed.
“I… I can’t make you promise something like that,” he murmured guiltily. “I shouldn’t have asked. I’m so-”
“Quit with the apologizin’.” Wolfwood thwacked blindly at Vash's head in annoyance, his hand landing with no real force in his hair. He didn’t bother taking it away. “You get to make promises you can’t keep all the time.”
“And that makes it okay for you to do it?” Vash asked, petulant but there was an amused tilt to his voice that made Wolfwood’s chest feel lighter. He tugged on the blonde strands between his fingers in lieu of an answer, not hard but Vash still let out a whiny little ow ow ow as he did.
“I’m staying, Spikey and that’s final. It’ll take much more than a couple bullets to get rid of me.”
It wasn’t exactly a lie. Wolfwood had to stay with Vash, like it or not. But he didn’t have to do this, patch up his wounds and climb into bed with him and rake his fingers slowly on his scalp because it made Vash let out a pleased little sigh that he could feel against his face. It was ridiculous and made his chest tight with some feeling he didn’t really want to analyze any further than strictly necessary. He ended up pinning it as exhaustion-induced delirium. Yeah, sure, let’s go with that.
“Thanks, Wolfwood.”
Vash was a big, stinking hypocrite, but maybe so was he, Wolfwood thought, laying in bed with the man he was supposed to deliver to his own personal hell. Maybe it was some twisted way he attempted to repent for what he knew was inevitably going to bury them both, trying to stave off the guilt. He didn’t know what would be worse, seeing the betrayal in Vash’s eyes or the idea that he knew all along and was still letting him do it. Wolfwood almost missed the time immediately after the windmill village, when Vash was angry and his hands clutched at him like he wanted to hurt Wolfwood because he deserved it. He could deal with anger, could bare his own fangs and bite back until the two of them tore each other to shreds.
But as quick as his anger rose, it disappeared, leaving him deflated and wrong and there was no satisfaction in trying to fight with someone who looked that beaten already. No, Vash wouldn’t blame him, instead he’d stash Rollo and everything that came with that whole shitshow into a neat little cupboard where all the things they didn’t talk about lie. In their short time together they got almost scarily good at not addressing the signs that spelled out disaster in big bold letters awaiting them in the future. Instead they did this, Vash’s head on his shoulder and Wolfwood’s hand in his hair as they both not quite slept on bloody sheets. Every once in a while Wolfwood’s fingers would brush against the bandage wrapped around Vash’s temple or his thigh would give a twinge of pain to remind him of what happened earlier today, what will happen countless times more.
“We’ll be alright, Spikey,” he murmured into Vash’s hair and tried to believe it himself.