dunno. got demons.

This really wasn't fair to Meryl. Or Milly. Neither of them had any idea what was going on just a few feet away from them. Both of them were chattering away, talking about something or other, Wolfwood wasn't exactly sure what. He'd barely been listening five minutes ago, and now?

He wasn't doing much of anything but trying not to make a damn sound.

It had been days since the last time they'd been alone. Traveling between the smaller cities was lengthy at the best of times, but the four of them had been lucky enough to have the luxury and use of Meryl's truck to do it. It meant that packing things around was a lot easier, being on their own schedule was possible, and, for the most part, things were more comfortable.

Usually, anyway, that was the case, but for the last few nights they had all agreed that camping was the best option.

Problem was, Meryl's truck was only loaded with one tent.

Lucky thing was that it was big enough for the four of them, even if Wolfwood had, at one point, threatened to go sleep in the truck if someone didn't stop kicking him.

He'd thought it was Vash. It had turned out to be Meryl, who had kicked him harder when he remarked that she had pretty big feet for such a small person otherwise.

Earlier today, though, they had been lucky. A clerk at a Plant station had pointed out how haphazard their truck was packed, mentioned that the tent was nearly slipping out of the strap that had been securing it to the roof rack. Maybe he'd been looking to be a good samaritan. Or, maybe, and, more likely in Wolfwood's estimation, he'd been wanting to hock his wares.

Which was fine, because even if their tent wasn't 'probably going to split on a surprise rip you didn't have last night!', having two tents couldn't hurt. Wolfwood had considered stealing the damn thing if Meryl hadn't stepped forward first, offering to pay for it.

Maybe she'd gotten sick of the shared quarters, too.

Whatever the reason, the four of them had, finally, become the proud owners of two tents. When they'd decided to stop that night, Vash and Wolfwood had gotten to work setting both of them up.

Wolfwood had intended to put some distance between them. It had been Vash who pointed out that they should keep the two closer together, 'just in case'. In case of what, Wolfwood hadn't known, but Milly had piped up in agreement, and then Meryl had gotten in on it, and before he knew it, Wolfwood was soundly outvoted.

He'd never even gotten around to casting his vote, but that was besides the point.

The whole reason he'd wanted a bit of space had been because of what was happening right now.

Part of him suspected that the real reason Vash had said they should be closer together was because he enjoyed torturing Wolfwood.

"Are you listening to her?"

Vash's voice was a teasing whisper, Wolfwood not needing to see his face to know he would be smiling, all angelic, like he wasn't up to anything.

Like he wasn't palming Wolfwood's half-hard cock through the front of his pants, and hadn't been for a minute now.

A few minutes ago, when Wolfwood had laid back with his head on the pillow he'd made of his rolled up blazer, arms crossed behind it, he'd been ready to tune out whatever the girls were going on about. Maybe he would actually get off to sleep at a decent time, tonight, he'd thought, since Vash had been insistent on them being such close neighbours.

That, and the tent flap was open. For some reason unbeknownst to Wolfwood.

They weren't facing each other, and Meryl and Milly couldn't see into Vash and Wolfwood's tent from theirs, but the open flaps had been left that way for chatting. Vash had been happily keeping up some silly conversation with Milly, something about New Oregon, a conversation that Meryl had quickly involved herself in.

While Wolfwood had laid there, he'd half expected that would be the soundtrack to his dozing off.

He hadn't noticed, though, that Vash's replies were getting fewer and farther between.

Hopefully, Meryl and Milly hadn't noticed either, because it would really interrupt Wolfwood's decent time if either one of them suddenly asked if they were still awake, or if everything was okay over here.

Mostly okay.

Kind of infuriating, but Wolfwood wasn't complaining.

He was, actually, trying not to make too much noise at all. One sound could reveal exactly what they were up to, and he didn't want Vash to stop. He really, really wanted to see where this would go.

Days of sharing a tent and sharing the truck would do that to a guy.

"Not really," he growled, under his breath, cracking an eye open and taking the chance to trust himself to look at Vash.

It was gloomy in the tent, the light of the moons barely spilling past the open flap, but it was bright enough for Wolfwood to see the way the corner of Vash's lower lip caught under his teeth, his sharp canine glinting while he watched Wolfwood.

"Me neither," he whispered back.

For a horrific second, Wolfwood thought the conversation in the next tent had abruptly stopped.

Then Milly sneezed.

"Bless you," Meryl's said.

"Thank you!" Milly replied, all cheery. As always.

Neither of them had any idea.

No idea that Vash's smile was getting wider, practiced fingers sliding open the button of Wolfwood's trousers.

No idea that while Meryl picked up her thread again, her voice a backdrop to the sound of Wolfwood's heart pounding in his ears, Vash was undoing his zipper.

He was a fucking menace. Wolfwood wasn't sure how he was surviving being around him, at all. If it wasn't the danger that came thanks to the fact that Vash's brother was some kind of psychopath who kept company of like-minded freaks, it was this.

The way Vash could make his body react so quickly. The way his touch, the sweet, careful touch of his fingers wrapping around Wolfwood's cock and pulling him free, could make Wolfwood immediately so damn hard and turned on he thought he might explode.

"Stay quiet," Vash whispered, and now Wolfwood could see the smirk on his face, the way his eyes drifted from Wolfwood's face, down to his cock, watching exactly how quickly Wolfwood reacted to him.

It should've been embarrassing, but Wolfwood's brain was too busy being addled to come up with any emotion other than turned on.

Especially when Vash shifted, glancing at his face, meeting his eyes for a second before—

"Blondie—"

Wolfwood hoped that hadn't been too loud. He didn't know, he couldn't really remember the second between Vash looking away from his face, and Vash wrapping his lips around his cock and swallowing him down.

Vaguely, he thought he could hear the girls still chatting. He hoped so.

He didn't have attention to spare making sure, too busy wrapping his finger's in Vash's hair and pulling, torn between wanting him to keep going, the slow heat of his mouth fucking amazing, and needing him to come off.

Vash, in response, hummed, low and quiet, and Wolfwood's free hand pressed to his own mouth, a physical reminder.

Stay. Quiet.

That was hard to do. Between the long nights of feeling Vash's body pressed against his and knowing they couldn't do a damn thing about it, and the short bit of time Vash had spent working him up, Wolfwood was wound, ready to break. He needed this.

And he wasn't going to last long if Vash kept up.

Giving another weak tug to Vash's hair, Wolfwood let out a breath, relief and disappointment flooding into his system in a rush when Vash pulled off.

"Need… a minute," he breathed, closing his eyes. The girls were definitely still talking. Christ, they had no idea. Wolfwood almost felt bad.

Then he heard the telltale sound of Vash's pants coming off.

It was kind of pathetic, the way he had an almost Pavlovian response to that, now. He heard the brush of the fabric, the sound of a zipper, and immediately his interest sparked.

If he was in the right mood.

Which Vash had made more than sure he was.

Opening his eyes, Wolfwood lifted his head, catching sight of Vash as he swung a pale, scarred leg over Wolfwood's hips. He was naked from the waist down, his pants in a crumpled heap, next to his boots in the corner of the tent, away from the open flap so a worm wouldn't crawl into them in the night.

Dressed in only his black turtleneck, and a smile that had lost some of its teasing edge. There was something else there, now, something Wolfwood was smug to see.

Need.

He wasn't the only one suffering.

"Let me," Vash breathed, his flesh hand reaching back, fingers guiding Wolfwood's cock to line up, tip pressing at his hole before Vash sunk down.

Oh, Wolfwood never got tired of this feeling. Vash tight around him, hot, moving so slow like he didn't want either of them to lose it too soon. It was maddening and perfect, and Wolfwood didn't notice his fingers were pressing eager little divots into Vash's thighs until Vash's hands laid over his.

It was such a careful, light touch, in comparison to the way Wolfwood wanted to throw him on his back and take him. Vash would have let it happen, too. Maybe.

He had before.

But now…

Like he'd read his mind, Vash repeated, "let me," before he leaned forward, both hands bracing on Wolfwood's chest as he lifted his hips, and brought them back down.

The whimper he made before he rolled his hips again, head tipping back, was everything. Vash could be infuriating as hell, the most annoying fucking guy on the planet.

But like this, riding Wolfwood with his teeth pressed into his lower lip, fingers curling against Wolfwood's chest as his movements got faster, more needy and greedy already? He was perfect.

Wolfwood didn't need another damn thing. Just the hot squeeze of Vash around him, and the sight of his face.

Pure fucking pleasure.

Wolfwood understood. His hands had moved from Vash's thighs to his hips, guiding him down, hard and quick, short thrusts that were quiet enough, but wicked. Relentless, and neither of them were going to last long.

Vash's eyes were going funny. They always did, when he was getting close, the patterns in his skin lighting up, mimicking in his irises and through the whites, soft and telltale of exactly how good he was feeling.

Wolfwood could do this to him.

That was addictive.

"Nick…" Vash whined, still low, and hopefully low enough.

They needed a hotel again, soon. Wolfwood needed to hear his name whined properly. He needed to hear the shaky gasps Vash made as his movements got erratic, riding Wolfwood hard, chasing his orgasm.

Wolfwood needed to be able to praise Vash properly, instead of gasping, "fuck, Vash," as his head tipped back and his hands gripped tight enough to bruise. That was only warning he could manage while he was supposed to be quiet, before he came, filling Vash up, feeling the hot, slick mess of it spilling out around his cock, Vash's fingernails digging in before—

It was a damn near thing. The sound Vash made before his prosthetic clapped over his own mouth was sudden and a little broken and incredibly hot, even if he made a mess of his turtleneck, and of Wolfwood's shirt, when he came.

Wolfwood couldn't be mad. Vash was gorgeous. Lit up and shaking, spasming around him sweetly enough Wolfwood wished he could go again, right now.

"Bless you!"

Milly's voice, so innocent, so naive, cut through the haze in Wolfwood's brain. Straddling him, Vash's eyes snapped open, meeting his.

The silence felt like it stretched impossibly long before Vash finally opened his mouth.

"Th-thank you!" He called, before he collapsed forward, burying his sudden, helpless giggles into Wolfwood's neck.

In his chest, Wolfwood's heart did something complicated.

Instead of acknowledging it out loud, he turned his head, lips against Vash's ear.

"You're so fucking lucky," he growled, suspecting Vash would feel the curl of his smile against his skin. That was fine. Good, even.

It was one thing to be woken up by his alarm.

It was another entirely to be woken up by the sound of his ringtone going off, insistently. It wasn't something that Nicholas D. Wolfwood usually heard, because he usually didn't have sound on. Only at night, and just in case something happened to his brother and he needed him. That had never happened.

Until now, Nicholas thought, snatching up his phone from where it was perched, merrily buzzing its way towards the edge of his nightstand with every note of the ringtone. He didn't even know what that was, some factory default setting? Either way, when he yanked the phone towards himself, the charging cable popping out, he expected to see Livio's name and photo.

Instead, he saw UNKNOWN NUMBER.

Of course.

The one time his phone went off at night, and it wasn't anything that was actually worth dragging him out of a dead sleep. No, it was some scam call, probably someone about to tell him that he'd dodged his tax payments for too long, or maybe that an unauthorized purchase had been made on his credit card to the tune of three grand. Even better, maybe that viruses had been detected on the computer he didn't even own. That one was always fun.

As Nicholas glared at the screen, imagining what he might say if that was what was waiting for him on the other end of the line, it went dark, before fading into his lock screen, a little missed call notification appearing.

Waiting another few breaths, just to see if it rang again, Nicholas dropped the phone, face down, before doing the same with himself, pressing his face into his pillow.

He needed to get back to sleep.

No sooner had he thought that then, again, the phone went off, the vibration of the ring rumbling through the mattress next to his hand.

Snatching it up, Nicholas swiped the call button and put the phone up to his ear.

"What?"

"Oh. Oh, you picked up."

That… Was not what Nicholas had been expecting to hear.

"Sorry, who is this?" he asked, shifting into a sitting position. The light from the street was coming through the slats in his window blinds, drawing lines across his bedsheets as he stared at the opposite wall. On the other end of the line, he could hear what sounded like traffic whizzing by at high speeds, and a sharp, shaky breath.

"Does the name Vash mean anything to you?"

The way that was worded should have made Nicholas leery. No one called, didn't introduce themselves, and then went on asking if certain things meant anything to the person they were calling. It might not have been a scam call, exactly, but it could have been a trap. Something meant to get him to give over personal information. Read out his credit card number. Recite his social security. Start giving away the answers to all those little questions the bank made you set up to prove that you really were you.

If that had been the goal, asking if the name Livio had meant something to him might've worked better. Or Melanie. Not some name he'd never even heard.

Except for the fact that when that name came down the line, quiet and a little shaky, something in Nicholas' stomach twisted. His chest felt tight, his pulse picking up unexpectedly.

Did it?

"Who. Is. This?"

"I…"

Silence, except for the sounds of what had to be a highway. Breathing. The shuffle of the receiver from one hand to another.

"You need to start talking, or I'm hanging up."

"Don't hang up!"

He should have.

He really should have.

Instead, though, Nicholas did what the caller asked of him. Sitting up, he reached over to flick on the lamp at his bedside, staring hard at the opposite wall when he spoke.

"You've got sixty seconds to convince me."

"Okay." Another shaky, careful inhale of breath, and Nicholas found himself pressing the phone harder against his ear. Listening as the caller breathed out again, the soft sound of lips being wet before he spoke again. "I'm Vash."

"I sort of figured."

There was a soft laugh before, "of course you did. You were always sharp, I knew you'd put that together."

Those words prodded at something in the back of his mind, and for a second, Nicholas felt like he was being pushed. Like something in his past was trying to rise up and get his attention by shoving him forward off a mental brink.

It didn't happen, but the feeling lingered.

Like a threat.

"So, why are you calling me in the middle of the night, Vash?"

"God," Vash said, quietly, and if Nicholas wasn't being totally off base, he would have thought he sounded like he might cry. There was another sound, a kind of muffled hum that sounded like a plea for being given a moment.

The sixty seconds had already passed. Nicholas wasn't hanging up.

"Do you believe in past lives?"

Of all the things that Nicholas has expected someone to ask him when they called him up in the middle of the night, that wasn't one of them. Asking if he had a way to get to a hospital, asking if he was all right taking a phone call from someone in prison, all right. It wouldn't have been ideal, far from it, but those were the sorts of questions he thought he'd be asked when he was woken from a deep sleep - the first in days, mind - by an unknown caller.

Not whether or not he believed in past lives.

Maybe the more jarring thing was, though he'd not said it out loud since he was a kid, Nicholas did. In one way or another, at least.

It had been around the time that Livio was brought to the orphanage. He'd been small, quiet, a real crybaby, not joining in with the other kids because he was, clearly, still dealing with trauma from what had happened to his parents.

Nicholas understood that, now. The adults caring for them did their best, but with so many orphans, there was only so much time to go around. Livio had been left to his own devices when he wasn't in a counselling session.

And it was his hiding away in a corner of the yard to cry that had drawn Nicholas' attention. Made him feel like someone needed to try and be Livio's friend, because he clearly needed one.

That, and, like Nicholas has blurted out, easy as you please, weeks later, he'd felt like he knew Livio. Like they were supposed to be brothers or something.

So, yeah.

Nicholas D. Wolfwood may not have said it out loud. He might not have broadcast it. But, like all kinds of other quiet beliefs people could harbour away, he did believe in past lives.

"Sure," Nicholas answered, reaching for the pack of his smokes sitting on the nightstand. He perched one between his lips, raising his lighter to the end while he spoke around it. "Why not? You?"

Instead of answering that question, Vash asked, "you're smoking?"

Pausing, Nicholas took the cigarette from his lips. When he spoke, smoke curled up from the corners of his mouth. "Yeah. Problem?"

"Not at all. That's just like you."

What was this guy's deal?

"If you're about to tell me that we were family in a past life —"

"—not exactly family," Vash cut in, and then, before Nicholas could ask 'then what?' he barrelled on. For someone who had seemed so careful and frugal with their words before, now he was going a mile a minute.

"But like that. We met on a bus. You were wandering in the desert, and I saw you. We were friends after that. Well, maybe after the shooting competition. You remember that? You signed me up without my permission. So I did it back." Vash laughed, "and we ended up facing off. After that, we ran into each other now and again. You… found me. When I needed someone the most. Reminded me who I was."

"Stop."

Nicholas hadn't expected the word to come out of his mouth, but it had slipped before he could stop it.

Memories were playing out. His eyes were open, staring at his bedroom wall, but he wasn't seeing it.

He was seeing endless sand, instead. Huge bulbs with otherworldly beings in them. A cross. A destroyed spaceship in the sky. A red coat.

The humanoid typhoon.

"Wolfwood…" Vash coaxed. "Give it a second. You do remember, don’t you?"

Stone houses cut into cliff sides. Gigantic monsters, worms, and the cross was a gun. His gun.

Full of mercy.

"I lost you."

A small town. A tall, slender man who, even in this memory that was his and still not his, made him feel ill to remember. Blood on the floor of the chapel.

The Stampede.

"I thought I might never find you again. You weren't in my last life. Not that I found."

Nicholas' cigarette had burned dangerously, a finger of ash dangling like a threat from the end. Without ceremony, he stubbed the whole thing out in the ashtray before he threw back the sheets.

"Where are you?"

"I, um. There's a gas station, out on the highway. It has a pay phone. Can you believe that? If I got it wrong, though, I didn't want to be tracked by my phone…"

"North or south?" Standing up, Nicholas trapped his phone between his ear and his shoulder, pulling on the same pants he'd been wearing earlier.

"Uh…" Vash paused, and the sound of movement and shuffling feet came through the receiver. Suddenly the sounds of traffic made sense. His instinct had been right.

"South."

"I'm coming to find you, Vash." It wasn't a statement that left itself open to discussion. He was remembering, now. Another whole life by this man's side. Something he'd wanted to spend more time on.

This was their chance for that. It had to be.

"I remember you. Needle-noggin."

It wasn't supposed to have happened like that.

One minute, everything had been peaceful. Or, as close to peaceful as things got at saloons when everyone in them had been drinking for hours. The next, all hell had broken loose, and Vash had lost sight of Wolfwood.

"It's okay, you're okay…"

It wasn't often that Vash ended up being celebrated the way he had tonight. Not just him, either. Wolfwood had also been the target of a lot of free drinks, tankards pressed into their hands that were so full the booze was spilling out over the edges as they were. Usually, when the two of them came into little towns like this, they kept a low profile. Got their room, did what needed done, restocked on whatever supplies they needed, and moved on quietly within a day or two.

With a bounty on his head like the one Vash had, it was safer if they did things that way. The less attention they drew, the better.

Sometimes, though, it was unavoidable. Wolfwood would grumble something about the damn red coat being impossible for people to ignore. Vash would point out that he was never, ever asking for whatever happened to happen, even if they both knew that was a lie.

Tonight, though, he hadn't been asking for any more attention than they'd already had.

"Stop sayin' that shit, you're wastin' breath."

They'd gotten to town, earlier, at the same time as many of the townsfolk had been running towards a house on the outskirts, not far from where they'd parked Angelina. It hadn't been their business, and Wolfwood had said something to that effect, even as he'd been hauling the Punisher up onto his shoulder to follow Vash into the crowd.

It had turned out that where everyone had been heading was to a house that was known to be dealing with some problems. From what Vash had gathered, afterwards, the father had recently come into some money, a bit of luck. Most of the town was happy for them. They'd been dealing with hardships for a long while, one of their sons was pretty ill, and the father himself had lost a leg in a work accident only a few years before. It had seemed like things were looking up for them, until the bandits that prowled between the little towns in this corner of the world caught wind of it.

They'd been harassing them for weeks. Trying to scare the wife and husband into giving up some of their good fortune. It wasn't even that much money, really, just enough to help them out, to make them comfortable, but it was more than most people around here had, and the bandits wanted it.

Of course, it so happened that the day they finally decided to really act on their demands was the same day Vash and Wolfwood had rolled into town, looking for a warm bed, a hot meal and, maybe, if they were lucky enough, a seamstress that might be able to help with some of their rattier clothes.

They'd been running low on clothing that didn't show exactly how often they found themselves roped into incidents like this.

It hadn't been their fight, but Vash was never one to turn away from someone who needed a hand. Grumble as he might, Wolfwood didn't argue, just followed Vash's lead, the two of them working as a well-run machine to scare to bandits off.

They won't be comin' back 'round here any time soon!

Those had been the words the town's mayor had said, before offering to put them up for the night in the biggest room at the inn. The inn that he happened to own.

It really was a small town, and maybe that had been why they had all been so eager to believe that the bandits had been properly scared off. Vash and Wolfwood, after all, were a little more imposing than their local do-gooders.

Easier to pick out in a crowded saloon, too, as it turned out.

Vash wasn't sure when the revelries had turned from light-hearted and highly-inebriated to chaos. It had taken a second for everyone to realize that the raise in volume, the new shouting, had less to do with someone having had a bit too much, and more to do with the bandits - at least, the three of them that had been too stupid to realize they were supposed to stay out of town - that had come in through the door, blocking the way out.

Wolfwood had realized before Vash, though. He'd been by the door when they'd come in. The Punisher wasn't with him, instead leaned up against the wall, safe and sound in their big, freely rented room, down the road. All he'd had was the one gun tucked under his suit jacket, and his hands.

It had been enough. Vash had been ready not to be happy about it, but people had been in danger, a barmaid had been grabbed, the words 'the strangers or her life' had been said.

Vash supposed he had to be glad that Wolfwood had exercised some kind of restraint, in that case. Non-lethal shots, and maybe that was because he knew the lecture he'd be in for from Vash otherwise, or maybe that was all he could manage with the hostage involved. All he could manage until he got closer.

If Vash understood right, that was when things had changed. That's when they'd gone wrong.

"C'mon, our room's just at the end of the hall…"

The bandits weren't a problem anymore, but by the time Vash had gotten to Wolfwood's side, the wide berth he was being given had let Vash know that there was a new one.

One that had made itself very, very obvious by the spreading red stain on Wolfwood's white shirt.

They'd been out for a drink. They'd been enjoying a night off.

Now…

Vash looked at Wolfwood, brows pinching together as he took in the set of his mouth, and the way his hand pressed to his side. Sticky red blood tacked the fabric of his shirt to his palm, and Vash swallowed.

Wolfwood would be fine.

They just needed to get to their room.

"You didn't lock it?" Wolfwood growled, as Vash twisted the knob and pulled Wolfwood along inside with him. "What's wrong with you, all our stuff's in here!"

"Stop yelling at me and sit down!" Vash ordered, guiding Wolfwood over to the closest of the two beds. When they had checked in and brought their things up, Vash had snorted at the sight of them. It was unspoken, between them, that one of those beds would go unused for most of the night. It was usually less than an hour, every night that they treated themselves to a room like this, before one of them would be climbing into the other's bed and curling up around him. They didn't talk about it, didn't waste breath telling front desk clerks they only needed the one bed.

Vash suspected that there would be no point in even pretending to use this bed tonight, though, once they were finished.

Hopefully the mayor didn't mind the blood stains on the sheets.

"Sit," Vash ordered, before pushing his hands under Wolfwood's jacket, forcing it off his shoulders. It had come open while he'd been dealing with the bandits; probably the same knife that had cut through his skin had been what had taken the button off the the front, that motion yanking it the rest of the way. They were definitely going to need that seamstress, now.

"You get real bossy when you're freaking out, needle-noggin."

"You're really bossy all the time," Vash shot back, tossing Wolfwood's ruined jacket to the floor and meeting his eyes with a scolding glare before he reached down, prosthetic hand curling around Wolfwood's wrist.

Gently, he coaxed, "let me see."

Vash knew about the vials that Wolfwood kept. He'd seen what they could do and, if this was bad enough, really bad enough, Vash knew that Wolfwood wouldn't shy away from taking one of them. They didn't talk about it, no words passed between them, ever, about what the trade-off was every time Wolfwood clawed his way back from the edge by using one.

They were there if needed, though, Vash reassured himself, watching Wolfwood's hand pull away from the gash in his side before he knelt down, looking at the wound.

It wasn't pretty. The edges were clean, at least, one quick slash, stretching from just under Wolfwood's ribs to the curve of his waist. It was deeper than Vash would've liked, blood still seeping lazy from it, soaking into the already soaked, formerly white fabric of Wolfwood's shirt.

Not bad, though. Not life threatening.

Not a reason to use any of those vials.

"Why did you bleed so much? This isn't even that bad!"

"Don't give me shit for bleedin', Vash, just get the kit!"

"Oh! Right!"

Shooting back to his feet, Vash moved away, going to his bag to dig out their first aid kit. At least, he was fairly sure it was in his bag, because he'd been the last of the two of them that had needed to use it. In fact, it was usually him that needed to use it.

This was a rarity, and, looking over at Wolfwood, Vash thanked whatever power or entity might be bored enough to listen that it was. The chance to stitch Wolfwood up, rather than the alternative, was something he needed to be grateful for.

While he'd been digging out the kit, Wolfwood had been undoing the buttons on his shirt. The movements of his fingers had left faint red imprints of his fingerprints on the edges around the button holes. As he shrugged it off, Vash sighed.

"I guess that one's a write-off, huh?"

Dumping the little bag that served as an aid kit onto the bed, he reached up himself, beginning the long process of undoing the buttons and snaps on his own coat, opening it over his chest while Wolfwood opened the bag and fished out the bottle of cheap liquor they kept in there.

It was the only one that was off limits to drink. It was meant for this and only this.

This being the act of being uncapped while a steadying breath was taken before splashing a generous amount over whatever wound happened to be needing attention. Vash pulled the sides of his coat apart as Wolfwood hissed, teeth bared and head tipped to the side as alcohol washed blood over his tan skin and down. The thin pink slosh of it slipped down into his waistband, spreading a dark, wet spot there while Vash reached out to take the bottle.

They'd done this too many times.

He had done this too many times. Usually on himself, so he was practiced. Overturning the bottle into his palm, he let a bit trickle out, rubbing his hands - flesh and fake - together before he set the bottle aside on the little table between their beds. Digging into the aid kit, he found the thread, that ugly needle slid through it, and set about prepping that even as he got on his knees on the bed beside Wolfwood.

"You make a pretty hot nurse."

Glancing at Wolfwood over the eye of the needle as the thread slid through, Vash smirked.

"You did lose a lot of blood, didn't you? Come on…"

Shifting in, he gestured with one hand for Wolfwood to move so he could get a better angle at the gash. It wasn't in a spot that Wolfwood couldn't get to, but Vash hadn't been about to make him deal with this himself.

Doing this was weirdly intimate. The sharp intake of breath Wolfwood had through his nose as the needle pushed through his skin from one side of the wound to the other crawled under Vash's skin.

It shouldn't.

He shouldn't feel something from Wolfwood letting him take care of him. From having the chance to do it at all. He should've felt horrified, his hands should have been shaking, but he was too used to this for that to happen.

"Hey…"

Vash glanced up, away from his work.

Wolfwood was watching him, his dark eyes searching Vash's face.

"You don't gotta worry about me."

Vash snorted, giving his current work a pointed look. It was closing up nicely, Wolfwood's blood smeared on Vash's fingers as he worked, but not nearly in the amounts he'd thought it would be, when he'd pushed through the crowd in the saloon. The spreading red he'd seen, before he'd met Wolfwood's eyes and rushed forward to his side, had felt like a threat.

He could lose this man too easily, even with those impossible vials.

Vash needed to savour every second. He knew how fragile life was. How many friends had he lost over the long years, to things just like that red stain? Every one had stayed with him, a stone in his pocket, and not one of them had been anything close to what Wolfwood was.

"Vash."

"Nearly done," Vash said, brightly, ignoring Wolfwood clearly trying to get his attention to loop the stitch closed, tying it off. It wasn't pretty, and if Wolfwood could ever scar, Vash probably would've had to apologize for how it would heal.

Inevitably, though, the next time Wolfwood had to down one of those vials, any evidence of Vash's ugly but adequate work would disappear alongside whatever life-threatening reason there was to take it.

"I said your name, you know."

Ignoring Wolfwood, Vash shifted, angling his body towards the bedside table, wrapping his fingers around the neck of their antiseptic liquor bottle.

He didn't quite get to his next step, pouring a little more on the closed up wound.

Wolfwood stopped him, his fingers grabbing at Vash's chin, forcing him to stop and look. Vash could feel the warm, sticky sensation of Wolfwood's own blood on his fingers where they pressed against his jaw and his cheeks. They were both going to be washing Wolfwood's blood off themselves, but Vash couldn't think about that now, not with Wolfwood forcing him to look him in the eye.

"You listenin' to me?"

"Always," Vash answered, forcing a smile up onto his face, squished though it was from the way Wolfwood was holding him.

Wolfwood's eyes tracked it, before he sighed.

Vash was expecting to be let go, waved on to inflict a minute of necessary but stinging, annoying pain.

Instead, what he got was Wolfwood using the grip on his chin to pull him in, kissing him.

It wasn't at all what Vash had expected. Not by the sheer fact that it was a kiss, nor by the soft, gentle feeling of it. Like this, after the night they'd had, Vash would have expected a hard press of Wolfwood's mouth against his, something he was taking, quickly, before either of them could get too caught up.

Instead, Wolfwood lingered, Vash's heartbeat picking up by one beat, two, three, before he finally pulled away. He didn't go far, though, forehead pressing to Vash's.

"Nothin's gonna get me, spikey. All right?"

It was hard to argue with Wolfwood, when he got that tone in his voice. The one that sounded so assured, that was meant to calm them both. It did, sinking into Vash's bones, making him nod before he pressed back in, catching Wolfwood's lips in another, hungrier kiss.

Later, so much later, as he stood in front of the mound of freshly turned up dirt, and let the hot, silent tears roll down his cheeks, Vash tried not to think about those words, spoken while Wolfwood's shirt had laid between them, ruined with blood, but hardly a sign of something bad. That hadn't taken Wolfwood, hadn't been nearly enough to get him.

But something had.