Chapter Text
How it’s supposed to go is this: the almighty Angel cannot forgive humanity for their sins.
He cannot forgive them for leaving his brother Fallen, even if said brother would never want to rise above them. Perhaps he had never been above them in the first place. But most of all, the Angel cannot forgive that, for a moment, he almost cared about those mortal beings of flesh and blood.
How it went, instead, was this: the angry child saw the kindest human he had ever met step out of reach, and turn towards the blazing inferno of a falling ship. For a split second, as the hatch on that escape pod closed, he thought: please, no.
The child would go on to battle his brother in the sands, but he begged, in his own head, don’t you leave me, too. And here is the key difference: when that rock was raised over his head that night in the desert, he opened his eyes. This is how the brothers were separated, both unable to look the other in the eye after such a revelation.
How it went, instead, was this: the Holy sought to rid the plight of the universe. He said those who couldn’t repent could not be redeemed. That was all he asked, really, and yet so few humans were willing to do such a thing.
The Damned begged with him anyway. And so, the Damned had his arm blown clean off. His shrieks echoed in an arrow straight through the chest of the Holy. And so from then it was forever tainted, because he, too, finally bled. He bled all over the Damned when he held him and thought: I didn’t mean it.
This was enough, for just a moment, to halt what should have always come to a city named Julai. This was, perhaps, the biggest and greatest change of all.
Cain had loved Abel so very dearly. Had he been anyone other than Cain, perhaps he could have stayed his hand and let the stone fall to the ground, unbloodied.
Here is the very problem with that: in this story, it was never the Angel who raised that stone in the first place, but the Fallen brother. So the truth is, ultimately: if Cain had been anyone other than himself, what kind of person did that leave Abel?
Abel had never known he was to die until the time came. But here, Abel had looked at that very stone, and he had felt, for the smallest of moments, what familial fear felt like. This was a very small, and a very important change: Abel knew, now, what Cain was capable of when he dared to love.
How it went, instead, was this: Millions Knives held a broken Vash in his arms at the entrance of a ship named Home. There he snarled, with all the might of Hell, that if humanity wanted to prove themselves worthy of all this agony his brother put himself through, then now was the chance to do it. Help him.
And they did.
Vash the Stampede was a wanted man with a bounty of six million double dollars, because even if so much changed, he was still, ultimately, Vash. It was truly incredible how bad his luck could be.
There wasn’t much that changed at first. Not really. A town would be graced with the gunman himself, disaster would follow, but Vash would do his damndest to fix it. He ran into some ladies from the Bernardelli Insurance Society, and while he wasn’t yet enough of a disaster to warrant surveillance, it was still their duty to keep him from trouble when he was around. And because he’s Vash, and luck happens to be a funny thing, they find one another again, and again, and again.
And also, perhaps, Meryl was hoping for a promotion if she could be the one to curb the nightmare that was the Stampede. So, in some way, Vash was still kept on a leash that he continued to break.
“I’m not a toddler, you know.”
“Even a toddler can learn not to throw himself into trouble.” Meryl hissed, shoving at him as they crawled onto the bus heading towards Mei City.
“That one wasn’t my fault!” Vash protested, dancing over not stepping on any toes (and failing) as he bustled off towards the back. “How am I responsible for the Bad Lads Gang boarding a sandsteamer?”
“You could’ve at least made the process quicker for everyone.” Meryl muttered, Milly easing her down into a seat across from the outlaw. “But you have to go and be a pacifist.”
“I think it’s rather admirable.” Milly said sweetly, sitting down next to her.
“Well, thank you very much—”
“It’s rather difficult to survive as a pacifist on Noman’s Land. The fact he’s lived this long must mean he has some great luck on his side!” Milly went on cheerfully.
“...I’m just gonna take that as a compliment.” Vash muttered, sinking down in his seat.
“Just stay in your seat and stay quiet.” Meryl instructed. “Let us make it to the next city in one piece.”
“I should hope so.” Vash pouted, resting his chin on his fist and looking out at the landscape. “You still gotta pay me back for this fare.”
Vash the Stampede was still a well-known name. Enough that both Meryl and Milly would know better than to call him by it in such a small bus. This was for three reasons: there was a chance people would pull out their guns and start shooting, a chance they’d panic, or a smaller chance they’d all clobber into the backseat to talk to the legendary gunman.
Vash the Stampede was only wanted for six million, after all, and this was due to nothing more than a very long repertoire of disasters piling on top of each other, very few of which were his fault.
He was also still Vash, and it was awfully hard to hate the man when you got into conversation with him, never mind how much he had to be the hero in any given situation. There were many who’d still love to talk to a man who’d been brave enough to shoot a greedy billionaire in the head, for example. Vash could never be that man per se, but he had enough underground good-word that the rebellious and careless would not pass up an opportunity to meet him. What an odd thing for a man to be, simultaneously loved and hunted. But mostly hunted.
Such is the nature of humanity, he’d think, staring dead-eyed out that window. This is what made him adore them so, after all.
Here is where you know how it goes: something glimmered on that horizonline, half-buried in the sand. Vash squinted out at that light, and then sat up with a start.
“Stop the bus.” He said, barely a word. But Milly heard, and so she nudged Meryl when Vash whirled around to them and said, “there’s someone out there.”
This, at first, did not change much either. The bus rolled to a stop, and a man with a haunted name was hauled out of the blazing sun, only an hour away from death's door. On his back he carried a covered cross, though some may note that it seemed slightly too small. Smaller than how it should be, at least. The butterfly effect was a funny thing, and don’t you worry about how he got that cross in the first place. We’ll get to that later.
They’d put him at the back of the bus, grateful as he was for the rescue. Vash would only briefly get a look at his face, ashen and requiring two people to carry him, and he thought this: his eyes, wayward and fading as they were, looked awfully kind.
Then he’d end up with Vash’s water and guzzling the whole thing, and a part of Vash would be a little annoyed about that. That, at least, was unchangeable.
“Thank you very kindly,” The man turned to Milly and Meryl, his smile inviting, “you lovely things may have just saved me.”
“Oh, we only kicked up the fuss.” Meryl shook her head. “The man behind you is the one who spotted you in the first place.”
“That so?” The man turned his head, and Vash snatched his hands away from trying to steal his sad, empty water bottle back. He offered an awkward smile.
“Aw, it was nothing.” Vash scratched the back of his neck, and he noted how the man stopped when he stared at him, how his eyes narrowed, just a tiny bit.
“Say,” The man started, and he leaned closer, so Vash leaned back against the window, “haven’t I seen you somewhere before?”
“Uh,” Vash cowered, “well, you know, I’ve just got that kind of face.”
“Oh, you probably saw him on a wanted poster!” Milly informed cheerfully. Meryl silently put her face in her hands. “Although I don’t think they capture him all too-well.”
“Wanted poster?” The man echoed, looked Vash up and down, then leaned away rather abruptly. “My God, you’re not—?”
“Lets!” Vash clapped his hands over the man’s mouth. “Let's keep that down.” He nervously darted his eyes further up the bus.
“Can you at least save it until we reach Mei City?” Meryl sighed into her hands. “We don’t need the Stampede causing an actual stampede.”
“You are him!” The man turned his head to break out of Vash’s grip, then grabbed him by the shoulders. “I don’t believe it, you’re really the Vash the Stampede?” He at least had the decency to keep his voice down. “Boy, you…” The man tipped back, eyeing him down. “Don’t really look like yer rumors. Thought you’d be bigger. But hey, rumors are rumors!” He clapped Vash on the back, who nearly got sent forward with the force.
“Oh, great, he’s a fan.” Meryl muttered into her hands.
“The name’s Wolfwood.” The man offered his hand to a thoroughly dazed Vash. “Nicholas D. Wolfwood, but you need not be so formal.”
“Uh, pleasure?” Vash tried, but he took the hand and shook it.
“I wonder what kind of journey I’d have,” Wolfwood leaned against the seat, forming his fingers into a pistol and aiming it loosely for Vash’s heart, “if I shot you here. You got a hefty bounty on your head, my friend.”
“I beg of you to not do that.” Meryl growled.
“In such close quarters wouldn’t be very fun.” Milly agreed.
“I wouldn’t call that journey fun, if that’s what you’re looking for.” Vash sighed, and Wolfwood just grinned a little wider before waving it off.
“Aw, you can’t take a little joke. C’mon now, I owe you one.” Wolfwood bumped their shoulders together. “I’ll be sure to pay it forward. How long are you staying in Mei?”
“Just passing through, really.” Vash began. “I’m a real drifter at heart.”
“Can’t stick around just a little bit?” Wolfwood pressed, and Vash slinked away a little when his space was invaded again. “I’m a bit, uh, low on cash at the moment, but hey, give me a day or two and I’ll treat ya to a drink.”
“Really?” Vash perked up, then spotted the warning glance from Meryl. “Uh, that’s nice and all sir—”
“Sir?” Wolfwood barked out a laugh, coming out was raspy and wild. He was clearly a smoker based purely off the sound of that laugh, but it had a careless air to it that Vash noted. Some people on the bus glanced back before resuming whatever they were doing. It made Vash feel a bit less uneasy. “We’ve gotta be the same age now, come on. But hey,” And his eyes cracked open, something glinting, “if that’s what you like.”
Vash’s thought about how technically Wolfwood should be calling him ‘sir’ went flying out the window. He had no idea if he should be flushing at that comment or if he was a weirdo for wondering such a thing in the first place. Probably the latter. Most definitely the latter.
He also missed Meryl making a pained sound, and that was probably for the best.
Little changed about when the bus stopped for a quick break, too. Wolfwood barely had enough to pay the fare, but the driver relented to let him skim by. Vash was half a second away from grudgingly offering to pay for it himself until Meryl smacked his arm before wandering off.
“Didn’t realize you made money as a priest.” Vash commented as the driver ran off, refusing the confessional (unsurprisingly).
“Well,” Wolfwood started, leaning against the side of the bus next to him, “depends, really. It’s hardly enough anyway.” He said, reaching into his suit to pull out a cigarette.
Vash followed the movement with his eyes, because he had over a lifetime to be aware of such things to save a little more skin. And it was definitely normal of him to linger on the realization Wolfwood had not readjusted his suit in any way, and in fact kept it mostly unbuttoned on purpose.
The sound of a lighter sparking to life drew his eyes back up, and he for the life of him couldn’t tell if Wolfwood’s gaze slipping away meant he noticed the staring or not. He felt embarrassed anyway.
“But you gotta get money somehow.” Wolfwood went on, talking around the cigarette between his teeth. “Say, you ever had a friend turn you in, get the money, then both ditch?”
“What? Of course not!” Vash sputtered. “Then there’d be even more people on the run. And six million dollars is quite a lot to part with for no good reason. It’s thievery.”
“You’re a man wanted for six million, and you can’t even do a little highway robbery?” Wolfwood scoffed, raising a disbelieving brow.
“What kind of man of God are you?” Vash defended. “Aren’t you supposed to be encouraging honesty and all that?”
“Hey, just ‘cause it’s encouraged don’t mean everyone follows it.” Wolfwood shrugged. “Just thought you’d have at least tried it once. What, no friend willing to go along with it? Definitely not those girls.” He nodded off to where Meryl and Milly were going over paperwork, standing near the back of the bus. “They seem like law-abiding citizens.”
Vash squinted at him. “You’re a very odd priest.”
“Why thank you,” Wolfwood grinned, crooked. “You’re turning out to be a very odd gunman. Odd folks can be real interestin’.”
“I’m usually not a fan of people who call me ‘interesting.’” Vash said, scrunching his face slightly. Too many memories of scientists poking around the ‘interesting’ Independent, ‘interesting’ how big the price on his head was, ‘interesting’ how different he was.
“Then allow me to rephrase,” Wolfwood said easily, and he took out his cigarette to give a wolfish (Vash thought himself hilarious) grin, “suppose I wasn’t honest. I often find the odd quite annoying, but you are so far proving my assumptions incorrect.”
“Oh, just give me a few hours.” Vash hummed, and Wolfwood laughed in that careless, rasping way again, some puffs of smoke escaping mid-drag from his lungs. Vash didn’t bother mentioning he wasn’t really joking.
Not much changed after that, either. Wolfwood still stood up when he saw those kids, and he crouched and spoke softly when he offered them what meager savings and candy he had. This ached something deep in what was considered a heart for Vash, and this is what gave him his conviction: Nicholas D. Wolfwood was a good man.
He knew this for certain as Wolfwood ruffled the hair of the kids as they thanked him profusely before hurrying on their way. The priest watched them go with a soft face that couldn’t be faked for show. Had you not understood Vash, such a statement about Wolfwood’s character may seem no more important than any others. Vash would save a monster, after all.
The key, here, is even he knew when a monster was a monster. The capability to be good did not mean one was. But Wolfwood? He had no doubts about him.
And when Wolfwood glanced back towards that bus where Vash watched him, he blinked for a moment, and then he smirked: “I didn’t think you could smile like that.”
“Like what?” Vash startled.
“You know what. Like you mean it.” Wolfwood brushed off, as if it were obvious. “But,” He went on before Vash could protest, “you oughta keep it. That smile’s a beautiful compliment.”
Meryl had returned by this point, because it was soon time for everyone to clamber back on the bus and make the last hour or so drive into the city, past the people who made it this far on foot alone. So it was she who scoffed heavily and rolled her eyes while Vash choked on his own spit trying to find the appropriate response to that.
He never got to, because the bus driver was already calling everyone back on. Wolfwood just winked (winked!) at him as he followed the others on. Which left Vash gaping like a fish. He was only partially aware of Milly coming up to his side.
“I like him.” She decided. “Even if he is a little strange.”
“They do say strangeness is interesting.” Vash mumbled, bewildered, but got on his feet all the same.
“Sure you won’t be around long?” Wolfwood asked as they all stepped off, passengers relieved to be in a city at last. He’d slung his cross over his shoulder, fingers hooked into the leather straps. “I really feel I oughta get you that drink.”
“And you expect to get the money for that by doing streetside confessionals?” Meryl raised a brow, arms crossed.
“Hey, never underestimate what people need to get off their chests.” Wolfwood said easily.
“I wouldn’t want to be a bother,” Vash tried.
“A bother? Brother, you saved my life. I owe you a lot more than a drink.” Wolfwood chuckled.
“Eager to not owe anything to a gunman, hm?” Meryl muttered, but she was already turning away.
“Oh, don’t be like that.” Milly clicked her tongue.
“I’m not one for debts I admit, but it does give me a good excuse to have some real fine company.” Wolfwood damn-near purred as his gaze slid back to Vash, who felt much like he was being invisibly pinned in place. And just like that, Wolfwood glanced away, and it was gone. “But alas, a man must still work to live and live to work. So hey,” He shouldered the cross over his back once more, “maybe I’ll see you around, Vash.”
He said the name quietly, in the step he took closer to Vash in order to walk into the street behind him. His expression was sharp and, had it been anyone but Vash (who frankly found too much solace in the deadly and dangerous) it may have set the hairs of their neck on end.
But it was Vash, and so it left him staring off at nothing with his heartbeat in his ears as Wolfwood strode right on past like it was any other day, waving behind him. Milly was the only one to enthusiastically return it.
Vash only looked back when Wolfwood was a good way down the street, where only his cross stuck out of the crowd. All he heard was Meryl’s heavy sigh.
“What a weirdo.” She muttered, then turned and stalked in the opposite direction.
“Oh, I liked him!” Milly followed, and only by a light tug on his sleeve did Vash snap out of his staring to follow.
He had no real reason to, in fact he had planned to slip away and go back to drifting as soon as he got off the bus (because he hadn’t really expected nor wanted Milly to pay him back, he felt bad), but everything felt so disoriented he couldn’t even remember to try.
“Yeah,” Vash mused, just for the sake of saying something, hands in his pockets.
“I don’t trust him.” Meryl curled her lip. “He was too friendly. And who carries a cross like that?”
“I thought he was awfully nice.” Milly insisted, clasping her hands. “And isn’t it lovely that someone was so kind to Mister Vash?”
“Voice down,” Vash side-eyed the people on the street, who were much too preoccupied to notice, “and—hey, plenty of people are nice to me! What about Jenora Rock?”
“They tried to turn you in for the reward.”
“Yeah, well, they needed it! They’re still nice to me.”
“You’re impossible.” Meryl rolled her eyes. “I’m saying no one in their right mind would meet someone like you and start putting on the charm.” Here she overdramatically batted her eyelashes, then made a gagging sound.
“He is kinda charming, isn’t he?” Vash looked back over his shoulder, as if there was any chance of him being able to see Wolfwood at this point, when they’d taken so many turns and went through so many people.
“Oh great.” Meryl dismayed. “You're far too easy, you know that?”
“Well, I don’t blame him, that priest really is something.” Milly giggled.
“And that’s another thing! What priest goes around flirting with wanted men?” Meryl continued, unaware of Vash making a sound like a strangled bird and choosing to ignore when he tripped face-first into the ground. “Some holy man he is.”
“Flirting?” Vash sat up abruptly, and Meryl and Milly finally stopped to look back at him. “Who said anything—me?” He pointed a finger at himself, eyes all wide. “He was flirting with me?”
“Are you stupid?” Meryl squinted.
“Sorry, I thought you knew.” Milly sounded so apologetic, as if it should’ve been up to her to let Vash in on knowing what was going on.
“Are you sure?” Vash sprung to his feet, once again spinning around and looking over the heads of the people walking around them. Again, Wolfwood was long gone by now. “That can't be right.”
“I give up.” Meryl threw her hands in the air, then kept walking. “I expect nothing less of a guy who has every girl slapping him within the hour.”
“Well this is different—flirting? With me?” Vash was up at Meryl and Milly’s sides in a flash. “You’re positive? You sure he wasn’t just being friendly? We get lots of friendly people. Buttering them up, compliments are normal.”
“Well, I suppose you’ll have to ask him if you see him again.” Is all Milly said, only somewhat covering up Meryl’s pained oh my God under her breath.
“Yeah,” Vash looked over his shoulder once more, and maybe walked with a little more stride in his step, “I hope I do.”
Vash lingered in Mei City perhaps just a little longer than he really would have under normal circumstances. Meryl clearly had her opinions but kept them to herself, and Milly was just happy to say hello to Vash while they finally caught up on work now that they were situated in one place.
Vash at least waved back when he saw them. He definitely wouldn’t be telling them when he left. He’d really hate to keep dragging them into his bad luck. Being friends with him wasn’t good for anyone in the long-run.
He didn’t find Wolfwood (not that he was looking), but he managed to keep his head down. Stuck around the outskirts. Messed around with the local kids, took on some bodyguarding jobs just for a night or two.
He noticed an uptick in the need for those the last two days, people wanting extra protection. He asked enough questions and found that a group of bandits were patrolling the sea of sand nearby. Certainly not the Bad Lads level of concern, but numerous enough that those on the edges of town were wary, and they kept their eyes on the horizon. Casual bandits wouldn’t venture far into a city, but they’d try and press.
Vash wandered the streets those nights. Often after a drink or two, but not tonight. He looked for flickers on the horizon. No bandits except the Bad Lads would be so bold as to have their lights on where they could be seen for miles when attacking. They’d keep low, but the tiniest shift in the sand would betray them. Vash had eyes better suited for the dark, compared to a human.
It was dusk now, when the shiftier folks, or others looking for fun, started to slip out of their homes. There was a tiny hole-in-the-wall bar that Vash found himself liking that had a nice view of the desert. A small place with some suspicious people that all had an understanding with one another, which he quite preferred.
The buildings were low there, so it was easy to climb to the top of them. He could see some teenagers a few roofs over laughing and probably doing substances they shouldn’t be doing, but they weren’t hurting anyone nor themselves, so Vash let them be. He just sat on the edge of the roof, dangling his legs off as he pulled out the sandwich he got from a vendor right before she closed. She had a few spare pieces and gave it to him on a discount, which was sweet.
It was his dinner for the night, really, but that was fine. He just watched the horizon, the streaks of orange and pink as they slowly faded to the sounds of growing nightlife. Yes, this was something he found he loved about humanity.
I should really drag Nai out sometime, he thought, taking another bite of his sandwich. Fresh air would be good for him.
This is when Vash was alerted to the sound of shattering glass.
He jerked his head, looking over the edge of the roof. The teenagers some ways over were laughing too loudly to notice the noise, but Vash saw the glass spill out of an alleyway. A second later, a large man was thrown out and went down onto those shards of glass.
And right after him, on his feet, was a man harshly dropping a heavy cross on the ground.
“Where’s your talk now, huh?” Snapped Wolfwood, had to be, but he had shades on now, and gave a hard kick to the man’s face before he whined and crawled up. “Come on, fight! You wanted it so damn bad!”
He reached down and pulled the man by the front of his shirt, then connected his first with his face. The man crumpled.
“Fight, asshole, I’m waiting!” Wolfwood barked, and a few people were glancing out of their windows. Some quickly left again. Others were very nosy and kept watching.
The man was a bit of a pathetic mess. He wasn’t small by any means either, Wolfwood’s height or so, but twice the girth, maybe triple. He was heavy-set with massive arms and—a gun holster, one he was blindly reaching for.
Vash braced to leap off the roof. In the same moment, Wolfwood stomped on the man's wrist, making him howl. He kicked the gun away as it skittered on the street stones.
“Get up.” Wolfwood growled, still standing on his wrist, crouching down to where his face was pressed into the concrete. “Say what you said earlier, huh? Come on. Get. Up.”
Wow, Vash thought, some priest.
Wolfwood’s head turned a little bit. It lifted, and then it suddenly snapped right on Vash. He didn’t speak that thought aloud, surely? He didn't tend to make such mistakes.
They both stared at one another.
“That you, blondie?” Wolfwood pulled his shades down, squinting.
“Hey, Wolfwood.” Vash offered a wave. “I’d ask if you wanted any help, but you seem to have it handled.”
“What, him?” Wolfwood snorted, dismissively casting his eye down at the crying man. “Nah, this ain’t nothing. I’ve rounded up toddlers who are more of a pain in the ass than him.” He finally stepped off the wrist, and the man clutched it quickly and scrambled to his feet.
“I–I’ll get–you don’t—” The man blubbered.
“Duh-duh-don’t what?” Wolfwood sneered, baring his teeth in the man’s face and making him flinch away. “A bullet fixed between those teeth might make ya spit somethin’ out for once!” He snapped, and the man promptly turned and hightailed it. It was a very undignified retreat.
“I don’t think that was necessary.” Vash frowned, briefly watching the man leave. “Isn’t the saying ‘thou shalt not kill?’”
“God’s gonna have to bear with a few sins, we live on this planet.” Wolfwood waved it off, and Vash’s frown deepened. “Besides, you’re you, you honestly can’t be preachin’ to me.”
“I’m a pacifist.” Vash said, sliding down the wall a few inches (and noting Wolfwood’s quick jerk towards him, startled) before leaping off, bracing briefly on the wall of the opposite building, then pushing off that and rolling on the ground before springing to his feet before Wolfwood. The priest in question whistled appreciatively, pushing his shades up to rest on his head.
“No shit?” Wolfwood sounded interested. “How you managed a reputation like that, I got no clue. Also,” He stepped back over the pieces of broken glass to fetch his cross, “you’re a show-off.”
“What’d he do, anyway?” Vash wondered, brushing himself down.
“Figured I’d be an easy man to rob, what with my big luggage and his big stature.” Wolfwood said casually, slinging the cross over one arm.
“That was quite a beating for a robbery.” Vash’s eyebrows raised.
“And he was ready to shoot me when it wasn’t goin’ his way.” Wolfwood said, casting an eye down to the pistol on the ground. Vash was closer, so he picked it up. “You gotta give folks tenfold what they do unto you. Sure won’t always stop ‘im from being a robber, but it might make his hands shake a little next time.” And here he grinned. “Throws off his aim.”
“You think that works?” Vash’s brows furrowed.
“Well, it sure wouldn’t work all too well on me.” Wolfwood admitted. “But I’d deserve it, and that’s enough.”
“I don’t think you deserve that.” Vash objected, and Wolfwood held out a hand. He offered the pistol once he clicked the safety on, and Wolfwood shoved it into the waistband of his pants.
“Yer sweet, spikey.” Wolfwood grinned, and Vash was abruptly reminded oh, yeah, he might be flirting with me. Also, spikey? “You know, I’ve been lookin’ for ya.”
“You have?” Vash perked up. Then forced himself to settle.
“Knew you hadn’t left the city just yet,” Wolfwood went on, beginning to walk down the street, and Vash easily fell into stride, “and I got some cash now. Was hoping I could finally get you that drink I promised.”
“Yeah?” Vash didn’t bother to hide the interest on his face. “You sure?”
“A man just tried to take it off me tonight, must mean this’ll be a drink worth the blood.” Wolfwood gave him a sly look.
“I’ve got a place in mind, if you’d like to check it out.” Vash began easing down a side-alley.
“If the man insists.” Wolfwood acquiesced, following right after. “But just so you know, if you’re hopin’ to rob me as well, I got a real mean left-hook.”
“I can tell!” Vash laughed, taking the joke for what it was. “Since when can a priest fight?”
“Gotta learn how. Not even the holy are protected here.” He moved one hand into his pocket, (since the other was still holding his cross) taking out a cigarette and holding it between his teeth, then fetching his lighter.
“Your church must be an interesting place.” Vash commented.
“Thought you said you didn’t like interestin’?’” Wolfwood teased, taking a deep inhale when his cigarette was lit.
“Oh, I don’t know, you don’t make it sound half bad.” Vash shrugged, and since Wolfwood’s shades were pushed up, he saw those eyes flick to him.
“Aw, you flatter me, spikes.” Wolfwood broke into a big smile. “I might even get ya two drinks for that.”
“In that case, I’ve got more where that came from.” Vash challenged, letting his gaze briefly meet Wolfwood’s.
Something sparked there, and Vash liked it. He tested the waters, because surely Meryl and Milly were out of their minds, but—Wolfwood slung an arm around his shoulders, chuckling as the two of them swayed down the street.
“We’re gonna keep gettin’ along just fine, Vash.” He declared, and Vash felt himself beam.
Wolfwood liked the place Vash picked out, which left Vash excitedly punching the air when his back was turned. The patrons barely batted an eye at them as they took a seat in the corner of the bar, backs to the large windows overlooking the sandy desert.
“Gotta say, I’m a little grateful you didn’t pick out an expensive place.” Wolfwood said as they got their first set of drinks.
“That’d just be rude, you can’t have gotten that much in a couple days.” Vash clicked his tongue.
“Hey, free drinks are free drinks. Made the mistake of offering to a lady once and boy was the place she picked a real crater in my wallet.” Wolfwood cringed, downing a sizable portion rather quickly.
“Guess a near-death experience will make you willing to try again, huh?” Vash ventured.
“Yeah, that,” Wolfwood looked over the rim of his glass, “and the opportunity was too good to pass up.”
Vash refused to tug on the collar of his coat. Okay, he had this. Sure, his flirting expertise was mostly focused on women, but how hard could this be? Wolfwood flirted with him first! He didn’t even have to try and entice him! He practically had this in the bag. He just had to not fuck it up.
“When’d you get the sunglasses?” He asked instead of anything cool.
“Hm? Oh, soon after. I usually got some on me, lost my old ones in the desert.” Wolfwood shrugged.
“I never asked, but what were you doing out there?” Vash pried.
“Just following some rumors. Car broke down and I had to walk.” Wolfwood explained easily. “Same old story. A stupid one, really, but I suspect someone messed with my vehicle before I got out there.”
“Why’d they do that?” Vash tilted his head.
“Eh, served a little holy justice and they probably hoped I’d get myself killed. Should’ve been more cautious.” Wolfwood was casual, downing more of his glass. “We playin’ twenty questions, now?”
Vash sputtered, suddenly awkward. Wolfwood grinned as he turned around to lean his arms against the counter, lolling his head lazily. He still reeked of smoke, but Vash found he didn’t mind as much as he tended to.
“I just—sorry,” Vash finished lamely.
“Naw, come on, let’s make it fair.” Wolfwood waved it off. “What brings you to a city like Mei?”
“Oh, just passing through. I didn’t mention it?” Vash blinked.
“Gotta be more than that.” Wolfwood shook his head. “A man with your reputation? No one gets six million on their head for nothin.’”
“Nothing nefarious, I assure!” Vash said quickly. “Just, you know…things get blamed on me sometimes…”
“Quite often, it seems.” Wolfwood raised a disbelieving brow.
“And sometimes they’re true…” Vash corrected with a wince, “but I really am just a drifter. It’s just, you know, everything gets stacked on each other over time and all…”
“Six million is a lot of ‘crimes stacking on top of each other.’” Wolfwood hummed. “And if you really were that pacifist gunman you claim you are, you’d have one hell of a long life, wouldn’t you?”
Vash pointedly held his tongue. There were a number of people on the planet who simply refused to believe he was the legendary gunman because he looked far too young. Those who kept up figured he had to be an older man by now. Sometimes Vash may or may not have pretended he took on the name of his supposed late father that definitely existed. Though these days he’s started to have to say grandfather instead, but even that was getting dicey.
“I got bad luck.” Vash said instead.
Wolfwood stared at him. He was…hm, very unimpressed. He looked Vash over. Then, he shrugged, going back to his drink.
“Fine, don’t tell me, I ain’t the beggin’ sort.” He downed a swig. “You gonna finish your drink, or you savorin’ that thing all night?”
Vash hastened to continue drinking. Wolfwood was already waving down the bartender for another round.
“So, uh,” Vash cleared his throat, hating when he left someone disappointed, “are you a drifter, too?”
“Not really, just venture out sometimes.” Wolfwood said, sliding the glass to Vash, who was now drinking down the first faster than he really should. “I’ll spend a while out, then a while back home. Tell me, spikey, what can I ask about you?”
“I dunno,” Vash mumbled into his glass, wheezing in a breath as he slammed it back, “what else do you want to know?”
“I can think of a few things,” Wolfwood said, looking him over, and Vash was feeling warm from alcohol and all sorts of things now. “I’ll keep it simple, then—you busy later?”
“Tonight?” Vash straightened. Saw the smirk on Wolfwood’s face and used every once of meager control in his body to remain still and look as normal as possible. “I–yeah, no, I’m not—I’m free.” He cleared his throat heavily, drowned in the chatter of the bar. “I’m not busy. At all.”
“Alright,” Wolfwood hummed, still smiling as he downed his next glass. Vash took his own much quicker. Okay, this was possibly going to be dicey, but he had enough experience to know that low-light rooms and just keeping things quick was a safe bet. He had this.
“Though,” Vash thought for a split second, then went with it, “I hear preachers aren’t supposed to be tempted.”
“You tempting me?” Wolfwood’s eyelids were low.
“Depends if it’s working.” Vash bent his elbow, resting his chin on the back of his hand.
“Think you’re real cute, don’t you?” Wolfwood scoffed, taking another sip.
“No,” Vash drank his own glass and mumbled around the rim, “that’s just you.”
Wolfwood paused. Vash acted as casual as he could. He was so good at this. And the people back at Home said he had no game, ha! He showed them right. He was awfully proud of himself.
Then he glanced back at Wolfwood and faltered. The priest was staring off over the bar, face subtly pinched in a frown. It was a small thing, jaw tense as his eyes flicked over something that wasn’t there. Vash lowered his drink, about to speak before Wolfwood caught him looking and straightened.
“Well,” He said, and that charming smile was right back on—no, suddenly it didn’t feel right anymore, “aren’t you–”
This is when half the patrons were rocked to the ground with a boom!
Vash was on his feet in an instant, same with Wolfwood. Their heads snapped to the windows and the cracking glass. Already patrons were yelling, some reaching for their own pistols or booking it to hide under the tables.
Someone threw open the door and raced outside, just for gunfire to sound off and they dropped to the ground. Not dead, luckily, having dropped of their own volition to avoid the shots, but nevertheless…
“Bandits,” Vash guessed, already unholstering his gun as he ran to the doorway.
“They have terrible timing,” And suddenly Wolfwood was at his side, poking his head out of the doorway to take a look himself.
Motorcycles roared over the sands, closer than they should’ve been able to get. Based on how they got here, Vash should’ve been able to spot them if he’d just spent another twenty minutes longer on the roof. But they were roaring around now, lights still off as some raced through the streets and others grabbed at fleeing civilians.
Windows were already being broken, bandits storming in. There were a lot more than anticipated. Unorganized, but in great numbers. It seemed like they just wanted to bust in, grab what they could, then drive off.
“I’ll be back.” Vash said over his shoulder, stepping out into the street.
“With what plan?” Wolfwood snapped, then ducked back inside when a shot rang out.
“Hands up!” Crowed a bandit, wielding a gun with a lot of pistons. Slow to fire but packing a bigger punch. “Unless you got somethin’ in your pockets, in which case, empty ‘em out.”
“Sorry there, friend, but I don’t have much on me.” Vash strode right on out, the hand not holding his gun raised out. “Say, this seems like an awfully violent way to raid. People might get hurt, you know.”
“What are you doing?” Stage-whispered Wolfwood.
“And it’s fun!” The bandit laughed, and he raised his gun higher when Vash tried to come closer. “Throw that pretty thing on over—hey!”
He barked when he was nearly run over by one of his buddies' motorcycles zooming past. Vash took the distraction to roll and shoot the gun out of the bandit’s hand. It went flying, and the bandit blinked just in time to see Vash standing over him, followed by kicking him across the back and into a wall.
“I’m gonna have to ask you and your buddies to leave.” Vash said, double-checking the chamber before snapping it shut, already aware of two bandits whooping on the roof where the teenagers used to be, and the one aiming a mini bazooka down at him. “If you don’t mind.”
The bazooka fired. The cobblestone street was blown with rocks flying sky-high in a plume of smoke and dust. Vash was already using the outside vents on buildings and balcony railings to launch himself up the building. The smoke had barely cleared, the bandits laughing, before he swung over the edge and connected his foot with the face of the one holding the bazooka.
The teenagers from before were still on the roof, held hostage no doubt. They were already yelling and tumbling over each other, and the second bandit wildly swung around and pulled out her own gun.
Vash spun and shot from the hip, and the sound of the shot alone was enough for her to flinch and throw off her aim. He knocked his hand up and dislodged her grip, and was able to rip the gun free and toss it out of reach somewhere to the street below.
“That wasn’t nice now, was it?” Vash chirped.
“Damnit—Mace!” The bandit snarled, and the crook Vash kicked earlier was struggling to get up and scramble for the bazooka teetering on the edge of the roof.
Vash shot it once, and it went spiraling away. The second bandit tried to tackle him off the roof and he stepped to the side, where she went right over and hit the ground. Survivable, but ouch that had to hurt.
The other bandit, Mace, scrambled back. Vash stepped on his ankle, then picked him up by the back of his shirt.
“Hey, hey hey! Look, you–you want a cut?” Mace blabbered. “We can give you a cut, if you’d like!”
“I’d like you to leave these poor people alone.” Vash glanced back at the sound of another window shattering. “Is there anyone in charge here?”
“Uh, miss–miss Heartsfield, she—she’s out in the…” He pointed a shaky finger.
In the dunes, further back, was a rather large vehicle that roared. No doubt it arrived last thanks to all the noise it made. Flames spouted off of it, and cackling followed as it did donuts in the sand, bandits running to and from it.
It’d still be a few minutes more before a sheriff could arrive. So Vash found a clothesline and hung the bandit up by it, who struggled and kicked. He looked back to the gathered teenagers, all staring.
“Everyone alright?” He checked. At tentative nods (and some who clearly were not present enough to even realize they had been in danger), he gave them a salute and hopped off the roof.
Some bandits had caught wind they were being messed with and started firing before he hit the ground. Vash rolled to avoid it, hiding in the alleyways to lean out and shoot. The second time he leaned out, one of the two bandits standing down the road suddenly jolted, blood blooming on their shirt as they crumpled to the ground.
Vash heard the extra gunshot, one that didn’t come from him. He looked back, and—
There was Wolfwood, halfway hidden behind his cross, leaning out to shoot with the pistol they’d taken off the would-be robber earlier.
“What are you doing?” Vash demanded, ducking as a stray bullet chipped the side of the building.
“Makin’ sure I ain’t getting robbed a second time around, what’s it look like?” Wolfwood barked, then hid behind his cross again at another rain of gunfire. “You sure you weren’t showin’ off again, blondie?”
“I would’ve tried to if I knew you were watching so closely.” Vash couldn’t help teasing, then leaned out and shot the gun from one of the bandit’s hands, making them squawk. “Could you at least try not to kill anyone?”
“The hell are you on about?” Wolfwood demanded, but Vash had already raced out and was aiming his gun at the bandit’s throat. They trembled, and when Vash lowered his gun they turned and booked it.
Vash kicked one of the discarded guns up, then threw it towards Wolfwood as he came out from his makeshift cover. “What kind of preacher knows how to shoot a gun, anyway?”
“This one.” Wolfwood muttered, catching the gun and checking it over, then discarding it over his shoulder. “This shit’s barely holding itself together.”
“You should go back.” Vash warned.
“What, and miss you getting your head blown off?” Wolfwood snorted. “As if. Besides, they make good beer here and I may as well help ‘em out.”
Vash ignored and went over to the bandit Wolfwood shot. It hit them in the chest, but it was too low to be instantly fatal. They were curled up and whimpering, and Vash tore off the end of their shirt and the strap that previously held bullets to wrap around their chest, applying pressure.
“You’ll be fine,” Vash murmured, “I’ll come back and make sure you see a doctor if no one gets you there first.”
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Off to ask their boss if she’d mind taking her band elsewhere.” Vash replied, gently moving the whimpering bandit out of the middle of the road.
“You know damn well that's not what I meant.”
“You’re a good shot.” Vash said, and it was true, he saw how he held the gun. “But I’m really going to have to ask you not to kill anyone.”
He had no doubt if Wolfwood had planned to kill the bandit, his aim would’ve been higher. Honestly, Wolfwood may have been trying to kill them, and the aim of the gun was thrown off due to how it was made or his unfamiliarity with it. Or maybe he was just focused on getting them to stop shooting, then worried about possible death-ramifications later.
“Are you serious?” Wolfwood squinted. “You realize they will happily kill us, yes?”
“You never know,” Vash huffed, then stood. “You can help the people here, or you can come with and not kill anyone. Well, both times you can’t kill people, but there’s more bandits out where I’m going.”
“And since when were you my boss?” Wolfwood sneered, but he heavily rolled his eyes, and he damn well followed.
Heartsfield was a rather big lady who clearly had a lot of gas to burn on her motorcycle. Vash had barely stepped out into the sands before some of her posse that stayed behind ran in to attack.
All of them were dispatched pretty easily, because he was Vash the Stampede, and all of them clearly had very little symmetry with one another. Wolfwood hung back and seemed perfectly content to let Vash handle the ones bee-lining it for him. He was clearly still pouting about that ‘no killing’ thing.
Some crooks peeled off from getting their wheels blown out by Vash’s bullets, heading straight for Wolfwood. Vash instinctively turned and stopped the first two with their back tires caving in, but two more raced past.
Wolfwood took some shots at the tires, then at the drivers. One of them was hit right in the shoulder and went flying off into the sand, the motorcycle going in the opposite direction before toppling over. Vash took out the other one.
By the time he made it to Heartsfield, she had stopped doing donuts and was sneering something mean his way. Wolfwood was even further back now, planting his cross on the ground and leaning on it, just watching.
Vash was inclined to show off a little. Then mentally berated himself for wanting to show off when he’s trying to help people. And then, when Heartsfield drew her pistol, he leaned to the side and shot from the hip, shooting the pistol clean out her hand and into the sand before anything was fired. Before most would even notice she’d drawn, really.
He heard a distant, impressed whistle from Wolfwood behind him. Worth it.
“You’re causing quite a stir out here, ma’am.” Vash said in lieu of a greeting—to be fair, she had tried to greet him with the barrel of a gun. “Don’t suppose I could entice you to leave this nice city alone? The folks on the outskirts here are rather friendly and, uh, don’t have much.”
“They got good booze.” Wolfwood called.
“They do have that.” Vash nodded.
“And who the hell are you supposed to be?” Heartsfield sneered, and hey, credit where it's due, she wasn’t giving in even after her gun was shot from her hand. Though she did have more strapped on her. “You got some nerve, you two-man-army.”
“Lady, you know who you’re talking to—”
“Just a friendly samaritan who doesn’t take kindly to raids like this.” Vash interrupted before Wolfwood could go around shouting Vash the Stampede like it meant anything.
“And I don’t take very kindly to prettyboys who are mouthy.” Heartsfield snapped back, and her motorcycle revved up.
It was a shame, really. She wasn’t quite his type—bit too tough and mean in the face, and he did prefer ladies who swooned over a nice save. Privately he had a soft spot for those who threw their own weight around like Heartsfield here, and because he was Vash, he probably would’ve tossed his hat into the ring for nothing more than a distraction. People underestimated those foolish enough to flirt in a life-or-death situation.
Alas, he had a very handsome gentleman who was currently supervising, and it would be awfully rude of him to go verbally cuddling up to another right in front of him. Even if it was all in a ploy.
Also, more importantly, he saw Heartsfield’s eyeline slip behind him for just a second, and a sliver of her bravado returned. Which meant they were no doubt about to have company.
Vash flicked his gaze behind himself, just for a second, and was greeted with the sound of Heartsfield hitting the gas pedal. He was also greeted with the sight of a number of smaller dirtbikes tearing off from the town and heading right for them, quieter but already aiming their guns.
Wolfwood was turning around to them as well, which let Vash feel he could roll to the side to avoid getting run over. This is when shots rang out.
Wolfwood used his cross as a shield again, holes hitting through the cloth. Vash had noticed the metallic clang of ricocheted bullets long ago, which truthfully left him quite curious, but right now he was a bit busy freaking out that Heartsfield had done a sharp turn and was circling Wolfwood, members of her gang advancing.
“What's the matter, hopin’ to pick up scraps from your buddy?” Heartsfield taunted, uproarious over her engine.
Vash was aiming his gun before he was even on his feet. A bullet lodged itself in the sand at his feet and he jumped back. He was getting encircled by dirtbikes.
“I don’t really do leftovers.” He could scarcely hear Wolfwood over the engines and taunting laughter, but he stood still, didn’t even follow Heartsfield with his head. “Figured I’d just see if he went and got himself killed.”
“Shame it’ll be you, then.” Heartsfield cackled, and when she started reaching for her pistol, one of her gang had already whipped around and aimed theirs at Wolfwood.
Multiple things all happened at once.
Vash adjusted his aim and shot at the hands of the lackey, bullet making contact. Their own shot went right into the sand, but it was a powerful thing, and the sound of that was triple that of Vash’s, so it caused a few to flinch anyway. At the same moment, Wolfwood grabbed his cross by one of the straps, swung it over his head, and slammed it down on the ground right in front of Heartsfield’s motorcycle, immediately sending it nose-down and her flying off. One of the other goons had either noticed this or had planned to act anyway, because Vash felt a zing of pain erupt through his lower ribcage, the familiar feel of a bullet.
Vash realized at that moment Wolfwood had, in fact, probably realized Heartsfield wasn’t going to be the one to shoot him. Had her subordinate shot in time, it would’ve been the split second she had made the circle around Wolfwood, right when she left their firing line. Wolfwood had stopped her right before she could leave her minion’s line of fire, and thus the bullet would’ve either hit her or the bike.
Probably best that Vash interrupted his little plan anyway. The chances of it hitting Heartsfield non-fatally in such a scenario was rather small. He’d scold him about it later.
“That so?” Wolfwood grabbed at the clasps on his cross as the bandits split their attention between him and Vash (who had stumbled and dropped to a knee), and in one swoop he popped the straps and fabric clean off.
Heartsfield had just gotten her head out of the sand, red in the face and shaking with fury. Even still, for a second she faltered and gaped as Wolfwood pulled his cross back into his grip.
Of course it was a massive gun. What else could it be? Practically everyone on Noman’s Land had either a hundred guns at their disposal, or a weapon that had an equal mass to that hundred. Meryl was the former, Milly the latter, and it seemed Wolfwood was as well.
Wolfwood dug his fingers into some weird circular part of the cross-gun, then twisted it. The end of the cross split apart, revealing a barrel straight down the center. His grin was smug as all hell, slightly annoyed, and a bit crazed. Vash couldn’t look away.
“Since you wanna fight so bad, missy,” Wolfwood hauled the cross onto his shoulder and flipped his shades back onto his face, “let’s dance.”
An impressed whistle sang in the privacy of Vash’s mind.
It erupted from there.
These bandits were a bit more coordinated, but that was clearly in relation to Heartsfield herself. They shot at Wolfwood to give her cover as she dove behind her bike, pulling out the bazooka strapped to it. Others focused their fire on Vash, who was right out in the open and had to frantically keep moving to shoot them in the legs and send them down.
He was satisfied when one of the bullets hit his prosthetic arm, bouncing off harmlessly. Then faced the consequences of that when another promptly hit him above the hip and sent him down again. He would berate himself for this, but frankly the fact he had avoided getting riddled with twenty bullets and counting was the surest sign of how inhuman he had to be.
Wolfwood was slower with his cross, but it packed a punch. Swinging it around already sent plenty of lackeys hitting the dirt, either bleeding or just to avoid getting hit. Vash had a reprimand on his tongue he would’ve said if he wasn’t, you know, fighting to keep from getting a hole in the head.
The cross had sent the bike denting and crumpling on itself, so Heartsfield had to spring out and fire when she could in Wolfwood’s direction. He managed to dodge them or use his cross as cover, firing with the small pistol he still had.
Heartsfield must have realized Wolfwood was a tougher battle. So when she looked for aid and instead found Vash on the ground, limping back to his feet as her minions were strewn out around him, she saw nothing more than what he appeared to be: an easy target.
Folks in these types of situations didn’t tend to care if they won. They just wanted someone to die for causing such a fuss.
Vash saw her aiming the bazooka his way. He was already struggling to grab his revolver and decide the best course of action—was it so fragile that shooting the grenade would cause it to explode, or was it covered by metal and thus could be redirected? If it could be redirected, he needed to shoot as soon as she fired, but if it was fragile, he needed to give it time to get away from Heartsfield so it didn’t explode on her.
The decision was made when Heartsfield snarled and fired. That decision was then ripped away from him when a high-pitched squeal rang through the near-night sky, and a shower of bright light, a goddamn rocket grenade, hit Heartsfield’s motorcycle and blew it to smithereens, sending her aim wildly off to the side and missing Vash completely.
Her bazookas shot imploded on a dune behind them. Sand cascaded down, and the few remaining crooks who could move all scrambled and haul each other out. Seemed the sand was loose and smothering near here, something like quicksand.
Heartsfield went flying, shrieking and coiling in on herself. Obviously, she now had burns bleeding all across her back and arm. It wouldn’t kill her, but it sure hurt to get all that sand in there, and Vash winced.
“C’mon, miss, where’s the encore?” Wolfwood drawled, slinging his cross back over his shoulder, because apparently it was also a rocket launcher in the back, striding over and stepping around the debris of her motorcycle. “I got more where that came from.”
“Wolfwood,” Vash warned, though it came out a bit strained.
He did glance back, eyes almost bored but no less agitated over the rim of his sunglasses. They widened a little, looking Vash up and down, then settled back to some odd neutral expression.
“Damn, they got you, huh blondie?” He hummed, then without looking placed a boot on Heartsfield’s back when she tried to crawl off to where she left her gun. The shriek she let out was horrific, and Vash sat up—as much as it hurt.
He just kicked Heartsfield away, and she rolled and then struggled to her feet. Wolfwood’s hands twitched over his cross, then began to aim it. He paused, glanced back at Vash, then instead turned to him.
“Rest of you best head on out.” Wolfwood said to no one in particular, but the bandits that could move were quick to grab onto their dirtbikes, the allies they cared about, and peeling off.
Three of them managed to grab onto Heartsfield, shakily hauling her onto a dirtbike even as she howled in pain. They left the bazooka and other weapons as they sped off, down the line of the city. Hopefully just to find a doctor, or a place to rest, rather than trying to terrorize down there. Already, Vash could see the few bandits that remained in the city notice the commotion and speed out to join their comrades.
Vash relaxed, slumping till his cheek was resting on his arm, exhaling in heavy relief. He closed his eyes and listened as Wolfwood’s boots came closer. Some sand got flung onto Vash’s coat when he came to a stop.
“You know,” Wolfwood began, and Vash cracked open an eye to look up at him, “you wouldn’t be so bent outta shape if you just killed ‘em. No prattlin’ on, just a clean one-two to the head. Or chest, heads can be messy when they splatter.”
“You’re a terrible priest,” Vash muttered into his arm, closing his eyes again. “Why’ve you got a gun like that?”
“Long story. Can you get up?”
“Yeah,” Vash grunted, slowly pushing himself up on shaky arms.
He stumbled a few times, Wolfwood just watching, shades low on his nose, expression carefully blank. Vash heaved until he was sitting upright, wincing and hunching in on himself. Fresh blood gushed around his coat. He’d be picking those bullets out later.
“You ain’t walking, I presume.” Wolfwood said. “Or in much fighting shape.”
“Just give me a minute, that’s all I need.” Vash chuckled, cracking open his eyes and reaching for the revolver he left discarded on the sand.
Before he made it, he felt something large and metallic press to the back of his head. Accompanying it was a very distinct, very loud click.
Vash froze.
Only the winds of the sands passed them by. Vash stared, wide-eyed out at the horizon, nothing more than an inky black speckled with stars and the rising moons.
“Wolfwood?” He whispered.
“It’s not personal, blondie.” Wolfwood said, as if he were talking about the weather. “I just need that reward.”
Oh.
Vash felt all the wind leave his sails in one fell swoop. The minute slumping of his muscles, the expression of shock slipping into a resigned, not-quite-smile. Yeah. Yeah, that made sense. It made a lot more sense than anything Wolfwood had said until now, really.
Vash closed his eyes, quietly exhaling. He heard the tiniest sound of Wolfwood’s finger turning over the slightly rusted trigger.
When the cross fired, all it hit was sand.
Wolfwood stumbled, the nose of his cross shoved to the ground. Instead he looked into the barrel of a revolver, and the leg Vash the Stampede threw over his weapon, keeping it down. The eyes that glared at Wolfwood were not accusing nor infuriated, simply a stern statement: not today.
Wolfwood blinked at the gun held to his face, then at Vash. He snorted, an ugly sort of sneer with flashing teeth and a cruel curl.
“You think I’m fuckin’ stupid?” Wolfwood’s hand tightened around his cross. “I already know you ain’t killin’ me.”
Ah, yes, that…did put a slight hamper on Vash’s usual method of escape in these sorts of situations. Not that he ever really hid being a pacifist, but people tended to be more lenient when they hadn’t just seen proof of that pacifism themselves and had a gun aimed at their head.
But hey, there was nothing in Vash’s doctrine about refusing to do non-lethal harm. Even if he didn’t like it.
Wolfwold heaved his cross up. Vash aimed for his shoulder. Wolfwood swung the cross around like a bat, the bullet ricocheting into the sand.
Had Vash not been suffering from two gunshot wounds and a bit of a broken heart, he probably would’ve shot Wolfwood in the gut by now. As it were, he wasn’t much up to speed, and Wolfwood was a damn better gunman than a priest had any right to be.
When he flipped his cross around and the barrel opened wide, Vash already knew he could shoot those rockets from that split-second he saw the first one and not risk it blowing up immediately. So when it fired, a few quick bullets sent it going in another direction, shaking the ground with a fiery plume.
Wolfwood swore and ducked behind his cross as Vash fired, then pulled out that old pistol and shot interchangeably. Vash heard the click of an empty chamber. Wolfwood leaned out and just threw the whole gun.
Vash focused on it, just for a second, and Wolfwood gave a kick to the base of his cross, held it steady, and fired.
Vash went to the sand, bullets just barely missing over his head. He grunted and fired from the ground, Wolfwood backing up over the dune they had wound up on, onto higher ground to avoid getting his toes blown to bits.
“At least act like you’re trying!” Wolfwood barked, and he braced his foot back and aimed to fire the normal (big) bullets.
“Trying as hard as I want to,” Vash muttered under his breath, raised his gun, and shot the first bullet straight out of the sky.
Wolfwood stared, the other bullets that followed going wide. This gave room for Vash to shoot where the top of Wolfwood’s arm connected to his shoulder—no permanent damage, but hurt like hell. Wolfwood snipped and faltered his grip for just a second, foot slipping down the other side of the dune, and went head-over-heels.
There was a thump and loud shouts as Wolfwood rolled down. Vash allowed himself a second to breathe, then began forcing himself up to his feet for when Wolfwood came back over the ridge.
He didn’t.
Wolfwood should’ve been back over the dune in no less than seven seconds, based on Vash’s estimate. Instead, he heard a loud “damnit!”, and no Wolfwood.
Vash limped his way up, one hand on the ground to hold himself up as he peered over.
The quicksand was no joke. It had caved at the bottom of the dune, and Wolfwood was scrabbling at the sand, knees already covered in and sinking faster. Hell, it had no doubt been dislodged even further by all those bazookas and rockets going around and disturbing any of the rocks keeping it up from the bottom.
The cross was way off the side, laying uselessly and just out of reach, only the tip brushing into the quicksand. It wouldn’t be sinking. But Wolfwood’s shades were askew, nothing to grip onto as his wild hands tried to find purchase.
“Shit,” Vash hissed, then hopped over the dune and slid down.
Wolfwood snapped his eyes back up to him, something feral rising up as he bared his teeth, and it was the panic that made it more threatening than if he was just angry. Vash knew scared people, scared animals, were far more dangerous than the angry ones. The desperation to live was stronger than the urge for vengeance, and the fight to stay alive had killed far more than revenge.
Vash’s wounds screamed at him as he skidded to a stop just before the sand started to sink. He dug in his heels and leaned forward, holding out a hand.
“Come on!” He commanded, fingers just barely brushing Wolfwood’s.
Wolfwood didn’t even snap. He reached out, frantically, and his fingers just barely hooked around Vash’s. His ribs howled, and Vash grit his teeth through the white-hot edges of his vision, clinging and pulling as hard he could. Lucky that Wolfwood grabbed the prosthetic hand.
Slowly, Wolfwood came free. Vash let go of him for just a second, and Wolfwood yelled out something that wasn’t a word as he scrambled to grab back hold, stilling only when Vash grabbed fully onto his wrist, then his other, and heaved.
He slipped instantly, wheezing and whimpering as blood spurted out. The edges of his vision were blackening, but Wolfwood was frantically trying to get his grip back on, a faint “Vash!” that was alarmingly desperate reaching his ears. Damn, Wolfwood’s voice shouldn’t sound faint to him right now.
He grabbed back on, and he pulled. In his mind, he would note somewhere that Wolfwood wasn’t even trying to pull him into the quicksand with him. Wasn’t trying to fight or flail, simply clung onto Vash like the lifeline he was. Most folks who wanted Vash dead would be using anything at their disposal to kill him as fast they could, even if it endangered them. Fear made them do stupid things, and the fear of Vash the Stampede was like no other.
Then again, Vash never got the impression Wolfwood had any fear for him. Even if he was a good actor, there was no fear in that gun pressed to the back of his head. It was as Wolfwood said, he supposed: he just needed the money.
Wolfwood popped free, feet kicking frantically at the sand. Vash fell right onto his back, and Wolfwood’s head and shoulders hit right into his hip. He let out a very pained sound, curling in and hissing. Wolfwood’s heavy breathing was felt over his legs as he struggled up to his feet, away from the quicksand and hobbling closer to his cross.
“You alright?” Vash grunted, eyes squeezed shut.
“I’m—” Wolfwood started. Stopped. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Vash cracked open his eyes. Wolfwood stood there, muddy-sand clinging to him from the waist down, shaking with adrenaline, bleeding from the shoulder, hardly a silhouette that blotted out the stars behind him. He was highlighted best by the moon kissing the ground, and it was only through their lights Vash saw the bewildered, downright affronted expression over Wolfwood’s face.
“What in the hell was that for?” Wolfwood demanded, looking around as if there was an answer, then stumbled back over his own feet till his heels kicked the cross.
“Seemed you needed some help.” Vash wheezed, slowly pushing till he was leaning on his side. “Hey, mind if you give me, just, two minutes?”
“Mind if I—okay pacifism is one thing, spikey.” Wolfwood berated. “It is an entirely different matter to go doing—to just—fuckin’ hell you are asking to get shot!” He snapped, and still he didn’t pick up the cross.
“Love and peace,” Vash held up a weak peace sign with his fingers, smile lopsided, “you’re welcome.”
Wolfwood looked like his head was going to explode, and like he was equally alarmed at the possibility as he was outraged at the audacity. Vash heavily dropped his head back onto the sand, still watching.
“There’s something wrong with you.” Wolfwood finally said, eyes still wide with that alarm, that fury, and he reached up like he was going to fiddle with a cigarette before realizing he didn’t have one, so instead he fixed his shades back over his face. “There’s something fucked in your head. Jesus, the only reason you ain’t dead yet is ‘cause you shoot like God himself guides your hand—no, you know what,” He ran a palm over his face, under those shades, “even that ain’t enough.”
“You're the priest,” Vash mumbled, “you tell me.”
“Fuck off,” Wolfwood snapped, dug into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a half-sandy pack, held a cigarette between his teeth, lit it, and then turned and chucked the lighter as far as he could, soaring over the dunes and out of sight. It seemed he couldn’t think of anything else to do.
His shoulders shook for a hot minute, fresh blood oozing, a cloud of smoking rolling out. He inhaled heavily, then exhaled like it was a great pain for him. He looked over his shoulder, glowering something fierce, the fear that lingered from the quicksand finally fading.
“God, you know what—” Wolfwood kicked at his cross, then yanked it up and over his good shoulder. “Fine. Fine, blondie, fine.”
Vash tensed, but then Wolfwood just turned around and walked along the edge of the dune, away from Vash. The outlaw in question stared, wide-eyed and certainly a bit surprised, Wolfwood’s footsteps heavy and still a little shaky, muttering something quietly under his breath.
Wolfwood paused just once, glancing back and through the side of his sunglasses, and immediately turned his eyes to Vash’s hair when their gazes met too quickly. He held his cigarette too-tight between his teeth.
“You ain’t worth the trouble.”
With that, he turned and walked right back towards the city of Mei.
Vash watched him go, slumping once he realized Wolfwood really wasn’t turning back around. He just let out a small huff of breath, rolling onto his back (with much difficulty) and scrubbing a hand tiredly over his face.
“M’really not.” Vash agreed, quietly, where no one would hear.
(What Vash didn’t know was that, not too far out from Mei, Wolfwood would notice two figures on thomas riding out in his direction. He would look up, recognize them, and hold his shades in place as he ducked his head. Nevertheless, they would pause by him.
“Oh,” Meryl said, tone dry, “it’s you.”
“Hello, Mr. Priest!” Milly greeted. “Have you seen Vash? We heard the commotion and wanted to make sure he wasn’t being a Humanoid Typhoon again.”
Silently, their eyes both noticed the unclothed cross. They would see the blood and how hefty such a weapon was. They would come to similar conclusions, but they would not comment on it.
Wolfwood just looked at them, shifting his cigarette from one corner of his mouth to the other. His hand would tighten, slightly, around his cross, and his chin would raise the tiniest centimeter.
Meryl’s eyes would widen. Wolfwood dipped his head lower and continued his trudge right towards Mei.
Meryl would snap the reins of her thoma and tear off into the desert, far too worried to think of spinning around, pulling out her pistols, and shooting Wolfwood straight through the back. It was unclear if Milly understood what had Meryl so concerned. But she glanced back at the priest only once before following.
When they found Vash, Meryl would quietly sigh with relief that he was still breathing, sliding off her thoma and struggling to help him sit up. Milly would get him upright instantly, and Vash’s dramatic cry of pain would make them both wince.
Meryl still wanted to turn around and shoot Wolfwood right in the achilles heel, then riddle him till the chambers were empty. What a cruel joke, what a cowardly move. But Vash would only chuckle lightly and ask if perhaps the hero of the night could have some shots for his troubles, and so that was much more prevalent.
Neither she nor Milly would ask about Wolfwood, and Vash would not tell them. He didn’t need to. This was, alas, what it meant to be Vash the Stampede: good things could never last.)