#whispyfic

Nicholas Wolfwood was so ready to be done with the day.

He had been attempting to grind this itch in his nose to submission since he first woke up this morning. Whatever was up there, though, was stuck good- sharp and irritating and just out of reach.

In his moments alone Nic tried his usual tactics. He squinted toward the suns, which left him looking like a goon with his mouth hanging open. He massaged and tickled and flicked and blew his nose till his fuckin’ brains threatened to spill out and yet the irritation stayed where it was, grounded.

They landed in town earlier than expected and made a beeline to the bar. Vash was in one of his more social moods; he lingered amongst the patrons, chatting and laughing. Wolfwood watched him from his perch, twisting his whiskey glass as it sweat on the pockholed counter.

Stampede was a master at subtlety. There seemed to be this imaginary barrier between himself and other people that he always felt compelled to maintain; touches were tolerated for a few moments before he would casually shift away. His smile almost never wavered, wide and endearing and carefully molded to cover the sharp tips of his canines. The warm friendliness of his tone soothed any thoughts of rejection these strangers may have. He laughed easily. He was clumsy and goofy and charming and all of it together masked his aloofness well.

Nicholas shifted his attention to his surroundings, eyes sweeping the crowd for anything suspicious as he brought his glass back to his lips. The remaining half of his drink was emptied in one swallow, head tilted back to let gravity aide him. He caught the bartender’s eye and motioned for a third.

Irritation spiked on the left side of his sinuses for the umpteenth time that day, his nose twitching in protest. He growled as he scrubbed at himself with a wrist. This whole ordeal had gotten old hours ago and he was to the point that if a sneeze came he’d welcome it, wouldn’t care how many people’s eardrums he blew out if he could just get some fuckin’ relief.

He brought his glass to the counter for another pour. Reaching in to his jacket he pulled out a few double dollars and motioned to Vash.

“How much does my friend there have on his tab?”

The bartender glanced at the small group laughing at the end of her bar. “Already accounted for.”

Really? Nic looked to Vash again. Apparently he was in the middle of telling some story, flushed and giggling and tripping over his words. The people around him were laughing at his antics. Huh. Nic was happy to leave him to socialize, long as he managed to keep the bullshit under control. Vash loved people more than they deserved, and too often that blew up in his face.

 “Closin’ out then?”

---

The whiskey wasn’t terrible for the price and he ended up pyrchasimg a bottle. He polished off his third drink quickly and hefted Punisher from her resting place beside him.

The air outside was blessedly clear of the stale smell of so many working-class bodies and he inhaled appreciatively. The itch in his sinuses roused at the temperature change and Nico sniffed sharply to encourage it as he cleared the last few steps on to the road.

He didn’t get far before he finally seemed to get somewhere- his nose twitched in warning just before the tingle blazed to life, distracting him to the point where he slowed to a halt.

“Hheh, h-hheh…” he lifted the hand with the whiskey bottle toward his face, pressing the tip of his nose lightly with the back of his wrist. Amber liquid sloshed gently as his hitching deepened and he had just enough forethought to grasp the neck of the bottle a little tighter because he was finally going to-

The bar door slammed open, and a familiar spindly figure in red tumbled out. Catching sight of his friend, he stumbled down the stairs in pursuit, nearly falling to his face in the dusty road.

“Nico! Wait ‘fr me!”

Nic expelled his breath in an irritated sigh and lowered his arm down to his side. He waited as the familiar sound of Vash’s trudging gait came closer.

“’s wrong?”

“Nothin’.”

“When someone says nothin it’s usually somethin’,” Vash slurred, a metal finger klink-ing as it tapped the glass of Nic’s whiskey.

Nic snatched it away, holding it protectively to his chest. “Careful. I’m not above feeding ya back your own advice.”

Evidently that was the funniest thing Vash had ever heard. Nic waited almost a full minute before losing his patience; he bent to hook an arm through his friends', hauling him to his feet.

“Wow," Nic grunted, "you are cocked, huh?”

“Naww, I’m fiine.”

“Whatever you say, man.”

---

“You’re a sneezy guy today,” Vash observed mildly from the couch.

Nic snorted and shot a look toward the gangly blonde. "You're not asleep yet?"

 Vash sucked his teeth. Sighing through his nose, Nic lifted his glass to his lips. He preferred rocks with his liquor, but those weren’t readily available in a hotel like this.

Much to his annoyance, the soothing warmth of the liquor was only teasing whatever tickly spot had been plaguing him all day. He scrubbed at his nose for the umpteenth time, groaning a bit as he attempted to squish the itch in to submission.

Vash was watching him intently now, and to cover the sudden rush of self-consciousness Nic snapped, “what?”

“Did’ja try lookin’ at the light?”

Nic turned away with a scoff. Only about 75 times. He ignored the creak of the loveseat behind him as he re-focused out the window.

“Want some help?”

“What are you, some kind of world expert?”

“Uhh, yeah kinda. A little.” A small, embarrassed chuckle. “I mean you’ve been traveling with me long enough to see for yourself, so...”

Couldn’t argue with that one. Nic made a flippant gesture to the air above him, leaving Vash to interpret it as he will. Stampede was moving around the room; there was the creak of wood as he shifted something heavy.

“Got it!” He moved in to Nicholas’ line of vision, proudly brandishing his chosen weapon. Nic scowled.

“A Bible? Really?”

“Yep! Wait, no. Just-“ Vash floundered for words, ending with an exasperated groan. “Just c’mere!”

Nic lurched to his feet with a put-upon sigh. It took a moment for his legs to work properly. Woah. He glanced at the bottle, shrugged, and took another swig.

Plopping down next to Vash, he turned to face him. The springs creaked in complaint of their combined weight as he stretched his arms out in challange.

“Do your worst.”

 Vash lifted the book, blowing hard on it’s cover to release a fine plume of dust. The motes danced in the air between them and Nicholas jerked back, hacking as they irritated his throat.

But then the itch in his nose stirred, and the coughing fit tapered off in to some promising hitchy breaths. Nic reared his head, the back of his hand hovering near the tip of his nose as the sneeze built closer, and closer to-

…nothing. He deflated with a groan. Damn it all.

“Man,” Vash said sympathetically, “that was close.”

Nic only snuffled in response. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and almost missed the moment that Vash's features slackened with a very familiar expression.

Nico stared at him incredulously. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“Hh-huh?" Wriggling his nose, Vash sniffed dryly and seemed to finally notice what was happening. Grimacing, he shoved a finger under his nose.

Nic gave him a sour look which sent Vash shrinking in to himself. There was a wetness gathering at the corners of his eyes and he sniffled, pert little nose twitching dangerously. With a strangled sound Vash moved his hand to pinch his nostrils between his fingers.

“Blondie.”

“M’good!” The false cheer was laced with a nasal quality.

“Blondie.”

“N-no really, I c… c’haaah… snff. It’ll pass!”

It wouldn’t; Wolfwood had witnessed his attempts to hold back sneezes in the past and those had been when Vash was sober.

“Just let go before ya hurt yourself.” He let Vash stutter over some nonsense for a moment before waving him off. “You can’t help it. It’s fine.”

This time, Vash did let go, squinting at him through gathering tears. His nose, which had turned pale from being pinched hard, flushed pink. “I’m s..sorheeh…”

He tilted his spiky head back, nostrils trembling in rebellion against their least favorite irritant. Nic murmured a curse and moved out of the line of fire, swiping at his own nose jealously.

The sneeze teased Vash right up to the ledge and held him there, frozen with his top lip curled back over his teeth. Nic sighed and braced himself; there were Vash's normal, kittenish variety, and then there were-

“Hhih-iih? H’RISZ-shiew!! IHH'zhew!”

…His dust sneezes. Just as pitchy, but with a lot more force. And volume.

“Iiih--! Hh. Hh'IIIH- ...Udd, man,” he scrubbed his nose with the back of a wrist, making little grunting noises that were very Vash, “uh-oh. Uhh, haah… damn, what the hell!”

Nic couldn’t help it- he burst in to laughter. Vash glared at him through a film of tears, mouth twitching up before he forced his expression back in to a frown.

“Don’t make fun a’ me!”

“Aaah… I’m sorry, Spikey.” Nic took a swig from the bottle and beckoned Vash closer. “C’mere.”

“I might sneeze,” Vash warned, but scooted closer as instructed. Nic took his chin in his hand, rubbing the calloused pad of his thumb just under his birthmark.

“Oh, the poor thing,” he tutted, pitching his voice low. Vash went scarlet from the tips of his ears down to his chest. God, his reaction to this kind of teasing was just too good to resist. “Tryin’ t’help me out and ended up stuck yourself.”

Vash made as if to pull away, but stopped in his tracks as Nic brushed the tip of his thumb teasingly up his septum.

“Hhhih--! Nic, that’s… y-you’re gonna-! ‘m gonna-  Haaah-”

“That is the idea, yeah.”

“Hhhrnt’shhIEW! Ooh, snff, m’sorry. I… ohhno…”

“Yeah, yeah. Give me the encore already.”

“Ahhkt’shiew!”

“Bless you, douchebag.”

Vash shot him a glare from the crook of his arm. Chuckling, Nicholas reached for the tissues on the bedside table and handed over the box.

“No more dust,” Nic proclaimed over the loud honking that followed. He tossed the book out of sight and swept any remnants off the blanket.

“No more dust,” Vash agreed solemnly, picking up Nic’s whiskey bottle and taking a long swig. He whined in protest when it was snatched from his grasp.

“The fuck you think you’re doing?”

“Collecting my best friend tax!”

“Best friends?” It was Nicholas’ turn to swig from the bottle. “Where's my charm bracelet?”

“Ohmygod. You mean you’d wear one?”

"Hell fuckin no. I have a reputation to keep up."

Vash grumbled with faux irritation and shoved away from his laughing friend. He made as if to get out of bed, but paused mid scootch with a gasp.

“You good there?”

“I know how to do it!”

Before Nic could ask, Vash had leapt from the bed and was scurrying out to the hallway. He was back within minutes.

“En garde!” he cried, brandishing the long, fluffy tail feather of a Tomas at Nic’s nose. The nose-owner in question gave him an unamused look.

“A feather? Really? That’s the brilliant plan?”

“It works, watch!” Stampede fanned the edge of the feather at the tip of his friend’s nose, making little circles with it as he pressed it closer. “Tickle, tickle!”

“Blondie,” Nic wasn’t even trying to keep the exasperation from his voice. He wrinkled his nose. “That only works in cartoons.”

But Vash was determined, tongue poking out in concentration as he leaned closer to observe his technique. He wriggled the smaller, fluffy fronds around and in to Nicholas’ nostrils.

Nic blinked. Hhh-!

...Wait, really?

“Nnnhh! Hhhah? Hhhhaaah—” He moved his hand in a rolling motion, encouraging Vash to move deeper, tickle harder.

“Hhhheh… d-Hhheh-HAH’Tch…” Nope. “Ugh, dammit!”

Vash pouted and reached to offer Nic the tissues. “I was sure that’d work.”

“Told ya, only in stories n’ stuff.”

“Nuh uh.” Vash twirled the feather in his hand, examining it. “People can be allergic to feathers, too. Just like fur.”

 Nic made a grab for it but Vash rolled out of reach, clumsily righting himself on the bed.

“Blondie. Y’don’t need t’-“

“Hhhih…” Jesus fucking christ, he’d barely touched the fuckin’ thing to his face. “It’s gonna work, s-see. I’m gonnaah— gonna sneeZIH’het-shiew! Shiew! Nn’chiew!”

“Bl-“

“Iiiiisch-oo! Woah! See?”

“Yes, you're very talented.”

Vash blinked at Nic's tone. He cracked a sheepish grin, swiping the feather behind his back.

It worked; Nic rolled his eyes as he flopped back on his pillow, patting the space beside him.

“C’mere, you nut.”

With a soft, eager sound Vash crawled in next to him. He tucked himself in beneath Nic’s chin. Jaw cracking on a yawn, he settled his ear over Nicholas’s heart.

The room was suddenly quiet save for the sounds of other patrons. A cool breeze drifted through the cracked window, fluttering the sun-bleached floral curtains. It gently rustled Vash’s trademark spikey hair, the soft follicles lifting back to caress the rims of Nicholas’s nostrils. The spicy scent of whatever new soap he’d used followed, nipping at innermost membranes. It was a scent that, now that Nic thought about it, he’d been getting whiffs of all day.

As though on cue the urge to sneeze howled to life.

“What’s—” Vash began to lift his head to look up at him, and in a moment of true desperation Nicholas reached up and pressed his needle noggin back down. The movement had flicked a good piece of hair up, and as Nic sniffed it fluttered teasingly against the inner walls of his nares.

“Fhhuck,” he swore, voice diluted and breathy, “think m’gonnahh-“  

Words trailed off as his body wrenched away his control, and Nic panted through several deep breaths.

“Now? Hold on. Not on m-“

“Hhhee’YYESH-zchu! Z’TESH-huee! Haah, h-hhah-“ he needed one more good one. Turning back toward Vash, Nic buried his nose in the mass of blonde spikes, inhaling deeply. The itch boarded on painful, and he released his captive, rolling his head back on the pillow blindly.

“Hhht’ZISHhh! Hh-” Ooh, and a bonus? Drunk and unable to help himself, Nic squirmed, nose scrunched and breath stuttering—

Something soft fanned against his nose, and with a final pitchy breath Nic sneezed hard enough to see stars, his shoulders  lifting from the bed.

“Bless you,” Vash murmured, tossing the feather aside with a shake of his wrist. He’d been too close to the detonation zone.

“Jesus fuck,” Nic groaned, so heavy with relief that it made his bedmate chuckle.

“Better?”

“You have no idea.” Then, with sudden and uncharacteristic shyness, “thanks.”

“Ho, hey! Thist!”

The storm door bounced off the house, rattling as the hydraulics system eased it shut. Of course Ber was following- big lug didn't know when to quit. He barreled down the stairs in Thistle's wake and nearly fell on his ass in the mud.

“What the fuck? What’s wrong?”

Thistle didn’t look up. His eyes were stinging; there was rain in them. He was already soaked and too angry to marvel at it- at how abundant water was on this planet.

“That you don’t know is part of the problem.” He wrapped slender fingers around the car door and clicked it shut, only for Berthold to yank it back open. It’s hinges squeaked in protest of the abuse and Thistle didn’t bother trying to wrestle it back. They’d just end up breaking something.

“Will you talk to me? Please?” Thistle kept his eyes on the windshield and his hands on the steering wheel. If he looked at Ber he was either going to break down or break his face.

He sniffled as he slid the key in to the ignition and tried not to shiver in the cool air. He’d read stories where characters with colds got worse after getting caught in the rain. He hoped his didn’t.

The engine turned over with a purr and the car hummed to life around him. The radio came on in a barrage of laughter and Thistle immediately jabbed a button to turn it off.

Ber’s large hand came in to view. He gripped the very top of the steering wheel and gave it a jiggle. “Hey,” he said softly, “come on. I can’t fix anything if I don’t know what the problem is.”

God. This would be so much easier if Ber would just… yell back. Then Thistle could lean in to his own anger, instead of being stuck with whatever this was roiling in his chest.

Thist coughed against a tickle in his throat, then winced as it crept up to his sinuses. He sniffed and scrunched his nose against it.

Bertl shifted, and with a pang of irritation Thistle realized he was trying to shield him from the rain. The steering wheel creaked as he glared daggers through the windshield. Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him.

“My pendant. You moved it. I thought I’d lost it.”

He’d thought the jewelry had gone missing, had frantically ripped apart the bedroom searching. He eventually did find it, laying on a little velvet cushion in the bathroom’s jewelry drawer. Meanwhile, Ber had sat in the living room, completely oblivious.

Distantly he was aware that this was a stupid thing to fight over. He doubted there had been any malice on Ber’s part. Still… this was Thistle’s most treasured possession. It was the one thing he had from home on this planet, something that grounded him amongst the cacophony of sounds and colors and smells that were just so alien.

As an Independent living among humans, he’d been ‘other’ his whole life. He'd never anticipated that it would be possible to feel even more isolated.

“Baby,” Berthold’s voice cut through his thoughts, rough with worry.

“Don’t fucking call me that,” Thistle spat with enough venom to make the larger man pull back a bit.

So stubborn, the memory of a familiar voice chided. Anger isn't going to replace the feelings, honey.

There was a beat of quiet between them. Rain drummed against the car, and even though Thistle couldn’t smell the air still felt heavy. Charged.

As if on cue a flicker of blinding white light flashed somewhere behind them. Thistle jumped at the sharp crack of thunder, then pushed away Ber's immediate attempt to soothe him. Lightening wouldn't possibly strike him with Berthold this close.

“Please,” Berthold sounded strangely small, uncertain. “I’m sorry. I’ll pay more attention in the future, just… don’t go out in this.”

This was hurting them both. The thought made the stinging in his eyes return, blurring his vision at the edges, and… damn it, he looked up.

Ber loomed over him, his arm up and resting against the top of the doorframe. His curls were soaked and flattened against his head, the light material of his shirt clinging to his torso. His gray eyes had been widened in supplication; at the sight of Thistle’s unshed tears his expression melted in to concern.

Rainwater was still running down Thistle’s face. A drop traveled down the slender bridge of his nose and hovered at it’s tip, turning the itch in his sinuses from background irritation to sudden, demanding need.

Thistle turned back, taking a hand off the wheel to fan his face as his cold teased him.

“You’re sick,” Ber reminded him over his staggering breaths. As though Thistle were in any fucking position to forget. He would have snapped back if he had any semblance of control over his stupid body and this stupid reflex.

Finally, finally, whatever needed to catch took hold, and Thistle slid his eyes closed, inhaling deeply. His nostrils were itchy, tingling, twitching, and he just needed to-

“H'ihhh. Hh’IISH-iew!” Fuck, that scraped his raw throat in all the wrong places. And there was another one coming, too: “IIIH-shieww!”

“Bless you,” Ber sighed as he brushed Thistle’s long, blond hair from his face. He tucked it gently behind his ear, and for whatever reason that motion was what cracked the dam.

Thistle’s vision swam and he pressed his lips together to stifle the sobs. He covered his mouth with a hand to further quell the noise, but had to switch to hiding his face in both hands in order to breathe.

He was vaguely aware of Berthold as he pressed closer, sliding the seat back and away from the steering wheel. The car chimed cheerily as the engine cut, and then there were warm, strong arms sliding under him.

The rain was twice as terrible on the way back. It felt like sharp little needles hitting him wherever it made contact with his skin… even Ber felt cold where their bodies met.

The front door closed firmly behind them. Thistle was jostled a bit as Ber kicked off his boots, and then there was the creak of a chair and the heavy weight of a blanket around them.

Thistle reached up to wrap an arm around his partner’s thick neck, pressing his face to the warm skin there. The rest of his anger was rapidly draining away, exposing all of the feelings beneath as they mixed unpleasantly with the symptoms of his cold.

“Ber,” his voice felt thick and heavy in his aching throat. He was trembling hard and couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or not. “I can’t-“

Bertold’s answering hum was more felt than heard as he brushed his lips against Thistle’s temple. “Then don’t.”

At that, Thistle let himself go for the first time in a long, long time. His body seized, chest heaving with the intensity of his loud, gasping sobs. Ber shifted him in his arms and instinctively curled around him.

They stayed like that for a while. Ber rocked them and murmured soft, sweet things as Thistle choked on his grief. It was practically bottomless; he hadn’t realized how much it hurt until he was smack dab in thr middle of it.

Exhaustion crept up on him as the tears finally began to dry up. As with every time he cried, hiccups began to assault him. The force of them shifted the heavy congestion in his sinuses with a sharp crackling nose.

His nose twitched with a sudden prickle. Grumbling in exasperation, Thistle scrubbed at his leaky face as his breathing wavered. His companion caught on quickly and pressed a corner of the blanket to Thistle’s nose in preparation… and a squeaky hiccup scared the sneeze away. This happened a few more times before Ber finally spoke up.

“Let’s go dry off.”

Thistle groaned as the blanket slid off them, the air of the house cold against his soaked clothing. Ber carried him to the bathroom, set him on the lid of the toilet, and gently detangled himself from Thistle despite whimpered protest.

The hiccups echoed against the bathroom walls as Ber rummaged through the cabinets. He came back and helped Thistle to peel off his clothes, then covered him with a bath sheet.

“Hhhih… hhih, hiih, hiII*hkk*—ugh!”

Kneeling on the floor, Ber scooted between Thistle’s knees. The blue cap of a chhinkini vial was tiny in his large fist as he dashed a dose on to the back of his hand.

“Thinking this might get rid of those hiccups too,” he said, lifting his fist toward Thistle’s face in offering.

Thistle, too tired to do much else, tilted his head and took the snuff, wrinkling his nose as he tried to work it past the congestion. He watched Ber lean back a bit, peeling his own soaked shirt off. His clothing joined Thistle’s with a heavy, wet plop.

He then pressed a soft hand towel in to Thistle’s hand just as the cooling menthol began to tingle.

“Ssshit,” Thistle gasped, his eyes squinting against the cresting itch. He reached out and pushed against his boyfriend's shoulder. “Ber, you miiih… *hkk* oh, haaaah. Oh my god-“

“Wait. You still haven’t tried it?” Ber chuckled as he shifted out of the line of fire. Thistle, who had not bought it to use on himself, could only whimper in response. He panted, fanning himself in his usual manner.

“Iiihh!” Head tilting back of its own accord, Thist was just vaguely aware of a broad hand on his chest, steadying him. “IiiiiHHHH-SHH’IISH!”

The first sneeze burst from him in a cloud of fine mist. He was halfway through the second when he remembered his manners- and the towel.

“…Iiiiiih’SHIEW! Iiiih-FFFNT! Hiiih! IIIFT-FFFT’SHH. Ugh! Hahh! Hht’esssh-SHIEWhh! Snf, snff!”

Ber’s other hand was on his back, rubbing long, soothing ovals. The gesture ignited a painful-sweet pang through Thistle’s chest before his nose wrestled his attention back.

“Hh’IIIH-szzch! IIh’ZEHH-shoo! IISH’ieew. IIIS’CH. Hhh. Hhhih. IIH-“

Ber reminded him to blow his nose and, desperate to get the tingling out, he did. The relief was short lived and the itch returned for an encore, wringing a few more sneezes from him until he was finally finished, breathing heavily and wiping at his nose and eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked once he caught his breath. “Ber-”

“’S alright.” Ber wiped away a missed tear with his thumb and pressed their foreheads together. Lightening flickered again, blindingly bright. The crashing thunder that followed was almost immediate.

Thistle swallowed against more tears. He had never had a partner treat him this tenderly. Most of the people on Gunsmoke didn’t have the luxury of a gentle upbringing; as an Earth-born, Berthold had grown up with a family who celebrated who and what he was. He’d described a childhood full of simple pleasures and happiness, and while Thistle had his own fair share of good memories, there was a point where they tipped and became dark.

He thought of Edith and her pastries and the way her laugh lines had deepened with age. He thought of the security of her embrace, and how almost sixty years had passed before Ber reminded him what that felt like.

God, he wanted to cry again.

“Want a shower?”

Thistle snuffled, and the moving congestion wrenched another sneeze from him. He sighed, utterly drained.

“No. Just… can we go to bed?”

In response Ber pressed a kiss to his forehead and stood. He then held out his hand, and Thist took it.

It wasn't until they were under the covers with Thistle tucked securely against Ber that he said, "So I may have over-reacted back there."

Berthold hummed behind him. "Not sure that's how I'd put it. It was a bit explosive but," he hesitated, "you're homesick."

Thistle took a deep breath and blew out a sigh. "I am home."

Ber seemed to consider his response a moment. "We can always go back."

"No," Thistle whispered, his chest aching with the memories of familiar faces, "we can't."

Ber tightened his embrace, pressing a firm kiss to the back of his head. It was an acknowledgment and a promise. He was still too young to have outlived all of his loved ones, but that day would come.

The first clue that something was off came the night before.

Then again, maybe Nic had been more distracted the day prior. It was hard to tell when they were on the road; it wasn’t unusual for Nicholas to sit back and listen to Vash's chatter.

Regardless, Wolfwood had snored like an irate sandworm that night, to the point where Vash gave up nudging him. He had spent a fair chunk of that night counting their supplies, cleaning his gun, and rearranging things.

The second clue was the coughing. Nic had a smoker's cough that usually came about in the mornings. This, however, was nagging. Dry. Nicholas waved off any of Vash's inquiries with various excuses throughout the day- it was the sand, the dust, the smoke. There was a progressive rasp to his voice, deepening and stretching it to a grainy quality.

The first sneeze came about suppertime, expertly silenced in to a tightly-closed fist. Vash reflexively chirped his usual polite acknowledgment, hiding his smile when Nic flushed at being caught.

Minutes later, it happened again. And again. And again. Vash frowned across the table, each subsequent sneeze deepening his worry. He bit his cheek to keep himself from saying anything. The tension between them stretched thinner by the minute; Nic, he knew, was waiting for him to say something. They were getting to know each other well.

Vash hadn’t been this close to anyone for decades; Nai’s threatening presence made it so that he hadn’t allowed himself any form of long-term human company. He didn’t realize how hungry he’d been for companionship until he was in the back seat of a van with three humans who quickly wormed their way past his defenses.

It hadn’t occurred to him until they had split from town that their relationship was shifting in to a different territory. Maybe he had just been in denial; it seemwd to come on rather quickly in a whirlwind of clashing teeth and tongue and the taste of nicotine, leaving them both breathless and aching in the back booth of a run-down bar.

And then JuLai happened, and he withdrew deep within himself. Started a new life. Locked his memories away where they remained until Nic stumbled back in to his life. The man had dropped his sardonic tough-guy act in order to pull him in to an embrace, radiating a relief so profound that it knocked Vash completely off-balance. The sharp ache had been overwhelming, and before Vash knew it he was reaching back, pressing closer, teeth clenched against the grief that twisted painfully in his throat. Even after everything, Nicholas had come for him.

Neither of them had directly acknowledged the change. Really, it was as if everything were completely normal, a natural progression. There were the nights that they kept an easy but friendly distance, and the nights that they fucked. Sprinkled throughout were moments of true vulnerability- times when the tiny fissures in their hearts cracked open and left them soft and exposed.

Those moments were painful, distressing in so many ways… and yet it revealed the deeply-rooted trust between them. Vash treasured those memories.

Another sneeze pulled him from his thoughts, terminating with a squelch that made Vash glad they weren’t camping out tonight.

“Bless you.” Nic didn’t answer, per usual. He was holding himself stiffly, staring down at his drink as he waited for the inevitable. Vash caved. “Are you-“

“I’m fine.”

“I don’t mean t-“

“I said,” Wolfwood repeated slowly, flicking his gaze up over his shades, “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Vash replied in the same cadence, without any of Nic’s ire. “Are you ready to head up?”

“You go. I want a smoke.”

A terrible idea. Vash had no ground to stand on when it came to personal health, though, so he nodded and stood.

He stopped and paid for a second night on his way up. Nicolas would be pissed that he’d interrupted their itinerary over his health, but he’d get over it eventually. Really, they could both use the rest.

It was late by the time Nic returned to the room. Vash was in the bed, lights off, laying on his side and feigning sleep. Wolfwood slid beneath the sheets with a quiet groan and a sigh, and there was no sound for several minutes.

Then the entire bed jerked suddenly, the mattress springs squeaking in protest. Nicolas murmured a curse under his breath, snuffled wetly… and then his breath was hitching. Vash turned on his back, not wanting to startle his companion.

“I’m awake,” he murmured in to the dark. “It’s alright.”

“Why are you –h-hhih-“

“Nico,” Vash said, tone firm but gentle. He was a little surprised when Nic sighed, relenting. The hitching immediately became more vocal.

“Gheh. Hhehh…heh.Hhheh, hhh-hhhiii-nn'gxt!”

Vash rolled the rest of the way to face Nic. He reached for the hand clamped around his friend’s sizable nose, tugging at it as Nic panted through a slack jaw.

“Hh-gnnxt! NNn’gxt! GGxt! Guhh…”

“Bless you!" He squeezed Nic’s wrist, “Doesn’t that hurt?”

“'s fine.”

Which meant that, yes, it did.

“You could stop trying to cut them off, you know. It’s just me here. You’d probably feel better.” He let go of Nic’s hand to graze his forehead. He was warm but not-quite feverish.

Nico grunted and turned his face away. “You know why I don’t.”

Vash did know. He’d learned a few months ago about Nicholas’ kink, and they’d experimented. It hadn’t been half bad. Not only did Vash get to watch Nico completely lose control over something remarkably simple, he’d gotten his own hit of endorphins, too.

Vash had been careful not to bring it up since, having decided that Nic should be the one to lead on that front.

When it came to his own sneezes Nico squashed the reflex in to submission whenever possible. He only sneezed within earshot when he simply had no other choice- he preferred some semblance of privacy. Vash eventually realized he even had difficulty discussing sneezing, which was actually pretty funny when he considered all the profane things Nic could and would talk about otherwise.

Ah, well. The man was allowed his idiosyncrasies.

“Well, I don’t like you making yourself more uncomfortable. If you were alone would you be okay? Maybe I should have gotten two rooms-“

“Spikey.” Tired, punctuated with a congested snuff. “Slow y’roll. I want you here.”

“Oh.” Something in Vash’s belly fluttered with a sweet, achy sensation. He cautiously closed the few inches between them to loop his arm across Nic’s belly, pausing to see if there was any protest before he pressed a tender kiss to the other man’s cheek.

“You’re gonna get sick,” Nico rumbled.

“I happen to have a great immune system.”

“Sure,” Nic pulled the blanket over his mouth to cough. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

They lay like that for several minutes, quiet except for the occasional clearing of Nic’s throat and the sound of the other patrons moving about. Vash was drifting, lulled by Nico’s breathing. He was dragged back to reality when the pattern abruptly changed, and opened his eyes to see Nic raising a hand to his face.

He sat up just in time for Wolfwood’s first audible hitch. Sighing, Vash brushed a tear or irritation from Nic’s cheek and tapped the hand that he had clamped relentlessly over his poor nose.

“Okay, Nico. Let go.” In response, Nic’s head bobbed up with the first silently stifled sneeze. Rubbing his friend's forearm, Vash tried again.

“C’mon, just let it happen. It’s okay.” Another sneeze rippled through Nic, terminating with a little squeak and a grimace that made Vash cringe. “Ouch. Stop that! What if we muffle it in to the blanket or something?”

Nic cast a watery glance down at the blanket, his expression unimpressed. Vash sighed again and reached for his pillow.

“Here. Let it go. It’s going to feel better, I promise.”

Nic was building himself up for a third sneeze, his breathing erratic and desperate. Vash made a small sympathetic noise and stroked his hair.

He was surprised when Nic did let go, his nostrils momentarily blanched before the blood flow returned. He scrunched his nose helplessly as the tickle crested, nostrils yawning wide and groped blindly for the pillow. Vash settled his hand over his thundering heart, rubbing his thumb back and forth in what he hoped was a soothing manner.

The hitching reached a crescendo and Nic froze, stock still except for the trembling of his glistening nostrils. One final irritated twitch and he was lurching in to the pillow.

“Bless you,” Vash cooed, leaning in to press another kiss in to Wolfwood’s hair. “Oh. Again?”

Nico managed a nod, teeth bared in a grimace as he launched himself forward again, this time only managing to muffle the tail end of his sneeze.

“Hhhheh-heeeh, Hhi’SHISH-nmph! Dammit!”

“There you go.”

“N-nhhah fuckinduhh—IIIISSSH’OO! Hih’RIISH’shah! Guuh… haaah… haIISH-SHhah!”

“Bless you again,” Vash murmured in to his hair. “Hopefully that feels better.”

A groan, followed by, “you got tissues on your side?”

Vash tossed him the box as he slid out of bed. Nic emerged from his stupor enough to notice his movement and gave him a questioning look over the tissues tenting the lower half of his face.

“I’m going to go check and see if there’s any medicine down there. I, uh, already booked us tomorrow night.” Nic lowered his hands, a different form of irritation crossing his features, and Vash quickly added, “I wanted to take a break anyway. It’s okay. I’ll be back soon!”

He was halfway down the hall when his sensitive hearing picked up yet another sneeze, mercifully unstifled.

Nic was at his wit’s end.

Vash and chaos were good friends- that much is obvious within the first few hours of travelling with the guy. Which would be fine, Nic could handle some craziness from time to time; hell, he invited his own, too.

The difficult bit was Stampede’s penchant for getting himself shot, stabbed, and mauled on a regular basis. Worse, he practically walked toward it with a smile.

There had been many conversations and debates between them on this. On one occasion they'd even had an all-out brawl. Nic knew he couldn’t change the man, couldn’t fix him. It still hurt to watch.

Today was turning out to be one of those days. Seriously, with the amount of time Nic spent dragging Punisher and Vash’s lanky ass around one would expect him to be way more buff.

“Stay awake,” he murmured in to Blondie’s neck. He had his hands full, and yet his fingers itched. He would have loved to fire back at those assholes.

“M’here. I’ve had worse!” The forced cheer, the attempt at reassurance… he sounded fuckin’ drunk. Nic wanted to shoot him, too.

“Take a left here.”

“You still haven’t told me where you’re taking us.”

“To an old friend’s.” Nic hoped this ‘friend’ didn’t try to turn them in, too.

---

The bathwater was tinted brown with silt, but it was warm. One couldn’t be too picky around these parts.

“Careful,” he grunted as he helped hoist the other man in, mindful of the deep purple blooming over Vash's left flank. “Don’t slip.”

A tired, nervous chuckle, “I got it.”

It turned out this “friend” of Vash’s had a small apartment in their attic, one that she was glad to rent them for the night. The large room with it’s own attached bathroom was practically a luxury compared to other places they’d holed up, and Nic was tempted to suggest they stay longer.

It seemed lady luck was finally paying them a visit. Vash was only bleeding from three spots, and one of them was just a graze. He hissed when Nic splashed water on it.

“Y’know, I’ve seen how fast you can move. Might save you a few scars.”

He received a noncommittal hum in response, followed by a relieved sigh as Vash's bony bottom touched the floor of the tub. Nic was reaching across for the bar of soap when metallic fingers curled firmly around his wrist.

“I got it,” softly, same gentle tone as always. It took a practiced ear to catch the jagged edge of… irritation? No, that wasn’t quite it. Nic leveled a look at his companion, considering his options for a long moment.

“Let me at least get your back.”

It was Vash’s turn to hold his gaze, albeit for a lot less time before he dropped it.

“Okay,” he murmured, subdued. Nicholas didn’t give him any more time to dwell on whatever guilt he was cooking up for himself; he scrubbed over the bumps and ridges of scar tissue with gentle yet firm pressure. He was reaching to start on Blondie’s shoulders when he was halted again.

“Thanks, Wolfwood.”

Nic sighed as he hoisted himself up off the tiles. He didn’t say anything as he left the room, patting his pockets for a smoke.

---

“I’m sorry.”

Nic finally got a hold of the last piece of shrapnel, lifting it from the flesh of Vash’s calf and tossing it to the sink with the ringing sound of metal on porcelain.

“Don’t need an apology.”

The man above him shifted his weight. Wolfwood kept his eyes on his work and flushed the wound with some of their drinking water.

“Nicholas-“

Nic didn’t look up. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, Spikey. Don’t care what today’s reason is.”

He applied antibiotic ointment before wrapping up, and for once Vash didn’t complain about the use of supplies on him.

“Yer friend left some sort of stew out for us,” he continued. “Have some with me. You heal faster when you eat.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Nic echoed, and finally glanced up.

Instead, he gave his companion’s uninjured thigh a firm pat as he dragged himself to his feet. “C’mon. Let’s eat so we can get to bed.”

He knew should say something nice, something comforting. Nic could remind Vash that he chooses to be here. That was likely to lead to an argument, though, and Nicholas didn’t have the energy to deal with that right now.

The stew was tepid but tasted good enough, and there was bread to go with it. Nic tore the loaf in two, keeping the larger piece to himself. Vash toyed with his food, swirling his spoon through the root vegetables and worm meat.

Nic ate in silence, leaving Vash to his thoughts. Nights like these had a sort of pattern. Currently they were in the “mope about the shit we can't change” stage. He could practically feel Vash ruminating over the firefight, no doubt assigning himself guilt he didn’t deserve.

He was startled from his thoughts by a shrill gasp. Wolfwood glanced across the table to see that Vash had his head tilted back, his chest swelling with a deep inhale-

“Bl-“

“Hih! H’IIZeh-shiew!”

…just before he pitched forward in to his bowl, the force of his sneeze throwing a wave of stew across the table.

For a moment, Nic could only gape, his gaze ping-ponging from his stained clothing, to the bowl, back to his shirt, and then to Vash.

Vash, whose face was one shade away from matching the red of his jacket.

“That was my last clean shirt!” He was still too shocked to be angry, but that was quickly changing as Stampede’s nose twitched again. This time, he pivoted in his seat to direct his next violent outburst toward the floor. The sneeze tapered off in to a soft whimper of pain.

“Spikey, the fuck?”

“I’m so sorrhhh-“

“How many times do I need to tell you to cover yer mouth before it finally makes it through that damn needle noggin of yours?”

“The tickle came out of nowhere, I swear!” Vash had his nose firmly squished against the back of his wrist, clearly flustered, “I-I’ll do the laundry! Jus… haah…”

He wavered on the precipice of another sneeze for a moment before apparently losing it. “Nico, I’m sorry. I just… y-you know I don’t always get a warning!”

That was another ridiculous argument they’ve had before. “That’s a load, man. The ‘warning’ is the tickle.“

“It’s sensitive!” At Nic’s incredulous glare, Vash groaned, his complexion somehow managing to darken further. “My nose is. It’s … it’s a plant thing? I think?”

Nic glared, leaning over the back of his chair. “You’re cleaning this up.”

“Hih… hit’TISHssheh!” Vash cringed, groaning low in his throat. He probably had some broken ribs on that left side. After a moment Nic sighed, reaching up to rub at his temples.

“Bless you,” he murmured grudgingly. He watched his friend cautiously lower his hands, testing the air with a sniff. The tip of his upturned nose remained pink as the rest of the blush receded. “What’s setting you off anyway?”

“Umm. Dust? I think?”

“This place is pretty clean.”

“Well,” a sniff, “it feels like dust. Tickle is still there just… not enough to sneeze again.”

Another sigh, and Nic was shoving back from the table. He poured the remainder of his soup in to Vash’s bowl despite the loud protest.

“Should’ve eaten yours before you decided to redecorate with it. I’m full.”

Vash was spluttering, toggling between partial build-ups to another sneeze and stuttered protest. Nic ignored him and began rifling through his bag.

“Think we still have some medicine for the pain in here." The pill bottle rattled in his hand. "And I might have some antihistamines.”

“I don’t need them! I’ll heal up by morning anyway.”

Nic placed the vial of pills firmly on the table. “I’m going to wash up.”

---

Nic was lying on his back, stripped down to his boxers and without his stained shirt. Vash had announced he was going to get some of the laundry done and could be heard moving around in the bathroom.

Nic could have argued against the chore, and probably should have. But Vash is an adult and Wolfwood had long since learned to pick his battles. Besides, Blondie was still firmly in one of his post-fight funks and needed the time to work through it.

He was just starting to drift when a light scratching at the window caught his attention. He glanced over to see a pair of yellow eyes regarding him through the glass.

“Oh!” Vash was apparently finished. “Wolfwood, open the window!”

The cat was small, but well-nourished compared to the scraggly creatures lurking at most street corners. The white of her chest was dirty from sand-dust; the rest of her lanky body was covered in a patchwork of orange and gray. She ducked through the open window and strutted over to bump her head against Nic's chin.

Vash clucked his tongue at her, holding out his hand. She chirped and padded across the room, tail held high, running her body against every vertical surface available along the way.

Nicholas held off on making any comment at the unfiltered delight in Vash’s expression. He sat at the table and patted his lap; after a moment’s hesitation she obliged him. Balancing on her back paws she bumped her head against his, and Vash laughed.

 Nic held his breath unconsciously; moments like this always felt fragile. That was a real smile on Vash’s face.

The cat had a collar on, a bright pendant shining against her chest. Vash lifted the tag with the tip of his pointer finger.

“Aww! Hi, Flower!”

“Think it likes you, Spikey.”

The cat came back down on all fours, prancing across Vash’s lap to bunt his other hand. Her tail, held high and proud, ran along the underside of Vash’s nose, hugging it like a wiggly mustache.

Vash’s smile wilted. Tears pooled in his eyes, and for a moment Nic thought he had begun spiraling toward some sort of breakdown, but… Vash’s entire expression was slackening. His nose twitched and he scrunched it away from the tail which was flicking at the tip as Flower purred.

“Hiiih…”

Aw, fuck no. Nic sprang to his feet, rushing to Vash’s side to lift the poor unsuspecting feline off his lap-

“Hih’IIssshuu! Hheh… heh… H’AAHsz’shiew! Oh nuh... Hah, hhaaah-“

The cat bristled in his hold, squirming and hissing, and Nic dropped it on reflex. She hit the floor and dove for cover under the bed.

“Mother f-“ Wolfwood stormed over and dropped to his knees, reaching a hand under the bed and waving it about. “Psst! Scram!”

“She ain’t seen nothing yet,” Nic growled as he swept his fingers closer to the hunched animal, who glared at him with dark, wild eyes.

“Wolfwood!” Vash admonished. His voice had a nasally quality to it; he probably had his fingers clamped around his nose to stave off any more sneezes. “She’s scared!”

“Hah-ngxt’tshush!”

Flower hissed and batted at his Nic’s outstretched hand. Her claw caught the skin of his knuckles.

“Ow! That’s it, you little-“

“Nuh uh, stay over there!” Nic snapped over his shoulder. He groped along the top of the bed for something solid to throw.

“K’sshiew!” Vash's chair groaned against the floorboards.

“Nic, please stop scaring her.”

“You wanna be able to breathe tonight? We need to get it out of here.”

“I’m not ahl… allergic t- KISH’iew!”

“Very convincing,” Nic murmured dryly. He took aim and hummed a shoe at the cat; with a final yowl of indignation she sped  away, lithe form flowing up and through the open window. Wolfwood stumbled to his feet and snapped it shut behind her.

Vash was a sight. He clutched at his left side with a pained grimace on his splotchy, tear-stained face. The back of his prosthetic hand was pressed against his nose and he groaned helplessly as he began hitching again.

Wolfwood fetched a wet washcloth. He stood in front of Vash and gently reached for his chin.

“Let me see that pretty mug of yours.”

Stampede shook his head and tried to speak. Nic pried the metal hand away and realized a second too late what a mistake that was.

“H’RISHH-hah!” Nic yelped at the blast of warmth and dampness that bloomed over his abdomen. He placed a steadying hand on Vash’s shoulder as he gasped shrilly, practically collapsing forward with a second, “Eehk’TISH-huh!”

“I’m sorry,” Vash hiccupped, the humiliation in his voice enough to make Nic's heart squeeze.

“Salud, Blondie. I asked for that one,” Nic patted his back awkwardly and wiped at Vash’s eyes, then his cheeks. He flinched when Nic reached his streaming nose, then groaned appreciatively as he pinched his septum lightly and scratched at the itch through the terrycloth. It was more than a little embarrassing and Wolfwood felt heat bloom across his cheeks at the sudden weight of Vash sagging against him.

 “Got some cracked ribs, yeah? Hold on, let’s get a pillow you can splint with.”

Now that Wolfwood looked he noticed divots in the bedspread filled with fur; apparently this was one of Flower’s favorite nap spots.

 Vash was firmly against him “bothering” his friend for clean sheets, and heading out in search of another place to stay was too risky in this state. In the end Nic raided the closet and found a blanket to throw over everything. Hopefully it would be enough.

He found an antihistamine packet partially crushed at the bottom of his pack and passed it to Vash with the painkiller. He took it without further resistance. Maybe Stampede was just tired; more likely he was just being his considerate-ass self and didn’t want to keep Nic up all night.

Eventually Nic was back in bed, laying on his side to face Vash’s back.

“Hhih… heh! Snf.”

“You’re not splinting.”

“Doesn’t hurt that bhha… bad.”

 Nic sucked his teeth and watched the shoulders next to him hike up defensively. “Right. So why are you trying to hold it in?”

 He had two pillows stacked beneath his head to match the volume of one. Wolfwood took one out and scooted himself closer, laying the pillow and then his arm over Vash’s side.

The man beside him tensed. “What are you doing?”

Nic yawned. “Makin’ sure you splint correctly.” There was a long, drawn-out pause and when there was no response, he ventured, “is... this okay?”

“Yeah,” Blondie murmured, relaxing until he leaned back against Wolfwood a bit. “Yeah. This… hiih… snf. Feels nhhii-“

“C'mon. Out with it.”

“G’hhheh… hehh, eeeeht’SHISH-iew!”

“Salud.”

“N-not yehht… IISCH-chah!”

“Dinero.”

“Heh-TISZ’chiew! Ow. Oh… hhheh’SHISH-shuh! Snf.”