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It never rains on No Man’s Land. This was a simple fact of life. The Plants generate power, the Worms eat your corpses, and it never rains. These are things people living in this dustbowl have to come to terms with.
Wolfwood often dreams about the rain. He’s heard the stories about too much rain, too much water. How could there ever be too much of something so good? he had always thought. Water was life here on a desert planet, and people had complained there was too much?
As much as he’d dreamed about seeing rain, he’d dismissed it as a childish fantasy. There was no rain to fall, and barely any water for humanity to survive on.
But still, when he slept, there was rain.
When The Eye of Michael first took him, he dreamt of him and Livio running away together, puddles soaking their ankles as they tore through the streets. Free at last! his heart had sung, and waking up in that cell had been the cruelest act of God he had ever felt.
After his escape attempt, when he had passed out from pain, he dreamt that water had flooded his cell and put him out of his misery. When he woke up, he cried. They had Livio now and he still wasn’t free . Despite never seeing a body of water big enough to drown in, Wolfwood knew this feeling was as close as he could get to the real thing. It felt as if misery was slipping into his lungs, choking and killing him.
Misery and guilt are the depths of oceans he’ll never see, but has heard about. Eight tons per square inch of pressure , he remembers reading. He wondered if this is how the divers felt, eviscerated at the heaviness of it all. All of that water, all of the pain. Wolfwood doesn’t know how to swim, stuck paralyzed, unable to even save himself. He wondered how the sea creatures had done it.
At a certain point, Nicholas got used to the feeling. The ocean-dwellers had evolved to be able to withstand pressure that would kill anything not made for it. So too, had Wolfwood adapted to his environment. He’d evolved into something that wasn’t put together quite right, edges still a little rough. Vestigial parts from his past iterations. Whales had legs once. They had pelvic bones when they went extinct. Physical, useless reminders of what they used to be. Wolfwood felt like he had a vestigial heart. A useless souvenir of the child he once was.
After years of feeling nothing but soul crushing misery, he just couldn’t feel it anymore. Mostly, he was just numb.
—
Meeting Vash felt like rain.
Of course it did. He was exactly what Wolfwood imagined rain to be like. Soothing and healing. Gentle. He was almost too much. Too much of something so good. Wolfwood felt at peace in his presence (despite his mission, despite all that was wrong with him, despite, despite –). Vash was rain, and water, and the opening of floodgates to drown the whole damn world. But Vash would never, holding back the flood with godlike hands – a kinder deity than any Wolfwood had ever prayed to. And he was his own brand of salvation. Never killing – never needing to – not even when necessary to protect himself. Nicholas didn’t get it.
Their meeting may have been orchestrated, but the way Vash so thoroughly involved himself in all of Wolfwood’s troubles was purely organic. He fit right in, like a puzzle piece, like the gun in his hand.
But Vash lives up to his name, The Humanoid Typhoon, tearing into Wolfwood’s life and tearing everything up. Ripping up towns they wander through, an unnatural disaster. He’s run out of every town that’s still left standing in his wake, dehumanized and demoralized. Nicholas hates it. What about Vash was so awful that they thought he didn’t deserve the love and peace he so fervently believes in? Vash always goes with a smile, leaving with thrown rocks and harsh insults. Never lifting a finger to defend himself, when Wolfwood knows damn well how good he is with a gun.
But he supposes it’s not up to a mere man to question the mercy of God. If Vash doesn't want to kill, so be it. He’s still the sacrificial lamb, still led to the slaughter by someone who’s supposed to be a friend. Wolfwood is Judas, the worst betrayer of them all.
At least there’ll be no kiss, he thinks, grateful for small mercies.
They’re set to reach July soon. Wolfwood tries not to think of what that means.
—
The nights on No Man’s Land are clear and cold, stars shining for billions of light years in every direction. But Nicholas doesn't really think of the night sky as sky. Rather, laying on the sand, he pictures that the inky blackness is actually water, and he’s looking down into the deep.
Drowning must be so peaceful. And he aches to submerge himself in it, slipping quietly into the water. All he ever wanted was quiet. For himself, for the orphanage, hell, even for the world. Everyone deserves to eat and smile, he had said all those weeks ago. Now, in his head, he amends it. Everyone deserves to eat, to smile, and to have a quiet life. The hard part is telling himself that he deserves it too.
Living like this, on the road with Vash and Meryl and Roberto, is achingly quiet sometimes. The hours of silence in the car, the dinners around a campfire. Wolfwood basks in it, soaking up all he can. The memories of this peace will have to be enough, after he fulfills his contract, after Vash is led to the altar, after Roberto and Meryl will hate him for his sin. These weeks will have to be enough. He repeats it like a mantra, a prayer.
Wolfwood looks up at the stars, down at the water. There is kinship here. We are all an abyss, we are all a void. The endless expanse of space, the depths of the ocean, the fool who betrays for money. Nicholas wonders when he got so poetic. He decides he doesn’t really care. It doesn’t matter, after all. Nothing really does.
Vash will join him sometimes, staring into the black. He tries to start conversations, This constellation was called Hercules, this one was called Draco.
Wolfwood tries to muster up things to say, like Do you know the story behind it, why it’s named this? Does it really look like a dragon? How do you remember all of this? When you look at the sky, do you see up or down, do you see a void or a possibility?
When you look at me, am I monstrous? Aren’t I horrific, dripping blood and gore all over everything? Were you lying when you said I was kind, when you said I was good-?
Nicholas never says any of this, he keeps his mouth shut and does his job. Vash doesn’t leave his side, though. Content to sit in silence and quietly exist with him.
Vash is quiet sometimes. Wolfwood thinks Vash deserves a quiet life the most. But he isn’t paid to think. He’s paid to deliver Vash unto the hands of his enemies, paid so Nicholas can deliver the orphanage from certain destruction.
That doesn’t mean he has to be happy about it.
—
It’s a violent night and Wolfwood is angry. He’s patching up Vash’s wounds, pissed at him for not at least trying to defend himself (pissed at himself for not protecting him like he should, what kind of bodyguard was he? What was he getting paid for if Vash wasn’t in one piece? Why does he even fucking care at all?).
Nicholas is yelling and wrapping the bandages a little too roughly, and Vash cries.
Vash cries and it’s a thunderstorm. It’s a hurricane, a tropical storm to Wolfwood’s slow-beating heart (the heart he thought he would never need again, so why is it so painful to watch him cry? Why does it hurt so much to be the one who caused it? What do I do with this hurt? ). Wolfwood thought that he was too numb to feel like this anymore. His vestigial heart, traitorously stuttering to an unfamiliar rhythm.
He cares about Vash, in a way he has never felt before for anyone or anything. Ironic then, that he becomes yet another cause of tears for the man. His hands immediately fall, pulling back as if burned. The unfastened bandages fall from Vash’s torso, swaying in the soft breeze. He stops speaking, lets silence descend over their corner of the world.
How does he say sorry? That he was yelling because he was worried about Vash? He never was good at all this emotional bullshit, not even before The Eye. Nicholas wishes he were better at this. A better man in general. But he doesn’t know how to be that. How to be someone worthy of Vash’s real smiles, the ones that make his eyes glitter, or even Vash’s company. He probably doesn’t even deserve to be on the same damn planet – not that any of humanity really does, either.
He should call Meryl over to finish wrapping the bandages. He should’ve let her do it in the first place. It would have saved them all from Wolfwood’s overwhelming ability to fuck up every good thing in his life. He knows he’s starting to spiral but he can’t stop it.
Nicholas opens his mouth to call her over. He glances down at Vash. He closes his mouth.
Vash is looking up at him, and even though his eyes are filled with tears from where Wolfwood had hurt him, there’s still that deep trust. Still.
“It’s okay, Nick.” Vash says, and Wolfwood crumbles. His own eyes fill, and he chokes on a sob.
It’s not okay, it’s not fucking okay, but Vash still forgives him effortlessly. Vash forgives him and the rain pours. Nicholas feels baptized in the storm that is Vash, cleansed in a way he’s never known.
It almost feels like religion.
—
They both knew this day was coming. Hell, Vash had probably known since the beginning that Wolfwood was Judas. It doesn’t make it hurt any less.
Wolfwood is walking away, contract clutched in his hand and Meryl’s furious eyes on his retreating form. He feels wrung out, completely devoid of life. He sold his soul for a goddamned piece of paper. It’s almost laughable. The piece of paper gets shoved in his coat pocket carelessly, Nicholas almost hearing the phantom jingle of thirty pieces of silver.
At least with the way things were set to play out, he wouldn’t even need a rope. Knives’ll just wipe ‘em all out in one go. It’s a small comfort.
It’s not even that he doesn’t believe in Vash to win. Vash probably could if Knives wasn’t such a fucking freak. And it’s better for him to be cynical all the time. He’s always right, or pleasantly surprised. So far, Nicholas has been right. There’s been little to no pleasant things in his life. He isn’t going to start hoping now, not when the end of the world is so near.
And that’s what this is. Truly, the end of the world. Vash will fail, Knives will get his bad-guy mega power up, and humanity will be wiped out for good. God. he thinks. I really need a cigarette. He goes to pull one out, and curses when he realizes his carton is empty.
Just my fucking luck.
—
The world didn’t end. Nicholas didn’t even have it in him to be pleasantly surprised. He wasn’t quite sure what had happened when the brothers fought, only that neither of them had made it out alive. And wasn’t that just great? Wolfwood once again was doomed to care too much for a dead man. Livio, then Vash, even Roberto. Wolfwood had a nasty habit of killing people with his proximity alone.
He didn’t go back to the orphanage. What was the point? He’d just end up killing all of them too. As long as he sends money back, Miss Melanie is happy, and so are the kids. Who cares if Nicholas is miserable?
And so he wanders around, doing any odd jobs he can. He avoids the ones that have him kill. Call him stupid or sentimental, but he just can’t bring himself to dishonor Vash’s memory like that. It’s like there’s a tiny angel on his shoulder now, one that was missing before. He decidedly ignores the fact that it’s Vash’s voice in his head.
If only you could see me now, blondie. He snorts out a laugh. I’m only a decent man after everything I love is gone. Nicholas is filled with some grim sort of amusement at this thought.
—
Nicholas is thirsty. He’s hungry, and he’s tired. (He is also lonely, so lonely it’s crushing him. Eight tons per square inch.)
It’s been a while since he’s actually spoken to another person. He misses traveling with a group, misses having that comradery, misses those moments of peace. He hasn’t known peace since July. He tries to remind himself that he’s been through worse than a little loneliness. It doesn't quite work. He still feels submerged.
He stumbles into some little no-name town’s little no-name saloon and collapses at the bar counter. It’s been weeks since he last saw civilization, and is greedy for all the comforts that come with it. He croaks out an order for water and the least expensive thing on the menu. The barkeep looks at him warily, and he understands. He looks like a mess, heavy bags under his eyes, sunglasses slipping down the bridge of his nose, a dusty suit that hasn’t been clean in weeks.
And the giant cross. Punisher tends to attract a lot of attention.
Nicholas lays his head down on his crossed arms and just breathes. He feels like he just broke the surface of the water, able to take in oxygen for the first time in a while. He has just enough money to pay for a meal and a room for a few days. The town is small enough that it’s untouched by what happened in July, small enough he shouldn’t be recognized, large cross gun notwithstanding. A small island among a turbulent sea.
His food and water is placed in front of him, and he raises his head. It looks wholly unappealing, but he knows he has to eat. Vash would want him to eat. Sometimes it feels like the memory of the man is the only thing keeping him going. Vash would want him to live, so he does, Vash would want him to take care of himself, so he does. For the most part. It’s a little funny that Nicholas is codependent on someone who’s dead. ( It’s not, really. But he laughs so he doesn’t break down and cry and never get back up.)
He glances at the food again. It still looks very much not edible, but he supposes it will have to do. Nicholas picks up the fork and raises it to his mouth.
There’s a flash of blond in his periphery. He damn near drops the fork. But it couldn’t be him. It literally could not be him.
It isn’t Vash the Stampede, that’s for sure. At least, not the way Nicholas is used to seeing him. The man has long hair, and a scruffy face. He looks older, without the iconic red coat, which makes sense because it’s been two whole years since Wolfwood saw him last. He knows that he’s staring, but is unable to tear his eyes away.
Oh God. Please. Wolfwood prays for what feels like the first time all over again. Oh, my God. Please, please, please-
The man’s gaze lands on him and Nicholas knows. (His lungs fill with water and he is drowning and breaking the surface at the same time. It feels like color has suddenly reappeared into his life, like he’s just opened his eyes. The crushing weight on his poor, broken shoulders is gone all at once. And all at once –) They lock eyes, and Nicholas watches as Vash’s (It really is him, oh God oh God) face crumples into disbelief, his long limbs immediately scrambling over to where Wolfwood is struggling to extract himself from the barstool.
They crash into each other with the force of a tsunami, the force of a typhoon. He wraps his arms around Vash and squeezes so hard he thinks he might break his ribs. Vash holds him just as tightly, shoving his face into the juncture of Nicholas’ neck and shoulder. He feels tears leaking out from his eyes, but he can’t bring himself to care. Besides, Vash is crying too.
Nicholas doesn’t even care that they’re making a scene. All he can think about is Vash. He never thought he would get the chance, and now here it is. A fucking miracle.
He barely registers the low buzzing of voices over the pounding of his heart (It certainly doesn’t feel vestigial anymore, the way it’s hammering at his ribcage. He wonders if it’s enough force to break the bones there, just from feeling so whole).
Eventually, his heart slows enough that he can make out his own voice, ragged and ruined, whispering “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” over and over again, and Vash just holds him tighter. Nicholas’ eyes and mouth squeeze shut. He holds them forcefully closed as he feels Vash drag him out of the bar, stumbling over both their feet. They shuffle into the cool desert night, and Nicholas keeps his eyes closed. He starts to see colors dance in his vision.
“Hey,” he hears Vash’s voice say. “Hey, Nick.” They’re still caught up in a crushing embrace. “Nicholas. Please open your eyes.”
But he can’t. He tightens his hold on Vash’s ribs. How does he tell him that he’s so fucking scared this isn’t real? That he’ll open his eyes and it’ll all have been a hallucination? He’s dreamt of this before, what makes this time so different, what makes him deserving of this, of actually having Vash in his arms?
Their bodies separate just a little, just enough that Vash can look at him. Nicholas still clings with all the strength in his body. He can’t bring himself to let go. He feels a gentle kiss on his forehead, his nose, both of his cheeks. Each ephemeral brush of sensation sends a jolt down his spine. Vash is so intrinsically good, he thinks.
“Nicholas.” He feels the sensation on his eyelids, on the bridge of his nose, on the corners of his mouth, still tightly shut. “Wolfwood, c’mon,” Vash whines, just like he used to when Nicholas would tease him. The nostalgia slams into him.
Nicholas feels the corners of his mouth involuntary twitch into a small smile. The tension in his face is lessened, the swirling colors behind his eyelids disappear. Vash’s thumbs come up to rub the drying tear tracks off of his face, large hands cupping his cheeks. The duality of the cool metal prosthetic and the warmth of the gloved hand is at once unfamiliar, yet so achingly like home that he wants to cry again.
The tender rhythm of Vash stroking his cheeks convinces him to crack open his eyes. He’s met with the boundless blue of the ocean in Vash’s eyes. Centuries old but still full of life, still full of love . The adoration he finds there steals his breath away. He didn’t know that someone could fit that much love in their gaze, but Vash has always done the impossible. Nicholas is drowning again. Except, instead of water it’s just love. His heart is overflowing, his chest feels too small.
“There he is,” Vash smiles at him and brushes the hair out of Wolfwood's eyes.
“Hi.” he answers, and they both ignore how his voice cracks on the syllable.
“I-” Vash tries to start, but Wolfwood cuts him off with a sigh.
“Can we just… stay like this? Just for a little longer? I think I’m still tryin’ to process that this is real,” Nicholas slurs, feeling like he just ran a marathon, like he got slammed repeatedly into a cliff face by a tumultuous ocean. Speech is difficult, at the moment.
“Okay,” Vash whispers as he pulls Nicholas closer, and kisses the top of his head. “Yeah, we can do that.”
—
They end up in what Nicholas thinks is supposed to be a park of some sort. He doesn’t remember the walk here, only that he never stopped clinging to Vash the entire time.
And what a novelty that is, to be able to hold on to someone without any shame. Nicholas feels like he’s drunk on the feeling of being able to hold onto Vash like this.
They sit together on a bench, and stare up at the clear night sky. Stars as far as they can see. Ocean all the way to the horizon. Their bodies are still pressed together, hip to hip, thigh to thigh, hands entwined. So close they might become one person.
Wolfwood isn’t afraid of conversation with Vash anymore now that Knives is gone, not when his sins have been absolved. But they sit in silence, that conversation too heavy for right now. There’ll be time for that, Wolfwood thinks, deliriously, We have all the time in the world.
For now he’s content to sit and watch Vash’s face. It’s quiet. He laughed and ate today. Wolfwood feels giddy down to his damn bones.
“Vash,” he says, and the world’s spin slows to a stop. Vash looks at him, adoration and contentment rolling off of him in waves. “Vash.” It’s all he can say, all the other words locked up in his throat.
“Yes, Nicholas?” he asks, but Wolfwood is already reaching for his face, cradling his cheeks and mirroring what Vash had done for him earlier, swiping his thumbs under his eyes. Nicholas leans in close. Too close his instincts scream. You’re too close, too close. Do you really think you deserve this? You? Wolfwood doesn’t give a damn. It doesn’t matter if he deserves it. He wants it. That’s enough.
“Is this okay?” he breathes into the small gap between their mouths. “Please say it’s okay, Vash, angel.” Nicholas knows he sounds a little desperate, but he’s waited two years and forever to do this.
Vash laughs, like silver bells, like rain on a pond’s surface, like he knows exactly what Nicholas is thinking. Soothing and gentle. “It’s okay, Nick. I want you to kiss me.”
And how could anyone refuse such a sweet utterance?
Wolfwood’s eyes slip closed as his lips brush Vash’s. It’s just a gentle press, until it’s not and oh, wow, Vash’s tongue is in his mouth and his hand is clutched in his hair and Nicholas can’t breathe . He can’t breathe in the best way, his lungs burning but he’s unable to tear himself away. Finally is all he can think. Finally. He’s never been so desperate to drown.
The kiss is messy. That’s the only way to put it. It’s the result of two years worth of hopelessness and pining, and it’s really hard to be good at something Nicholas has never really done. It’s more tongues and teeth than strictly necessary, but neither of them care. Wolfwood has somehow migrated onto Vash’s lap, running his hands down his sides, his chest, his back. He wants to feel every inch of Vash’s mottled skin, can feel it through the thin material of the shirt.
Nicholas shoves his hands under the fabric and up Vash’s chest. God. He’s so fucking perfect. The metal embedded in Vash’s skin is warm to the touch, and Wolfwood is so gone for this man. He’s absolutely ruined for anyone else, not like there ever could be anyone but Vash, his own angel. God. Vash’s hands grab his ass and pull him closer, and Nicholas wants to be inside his skin, behind his ribcage. Curl around Vash's perfect heart and keep it safe forever and ever.
He settles for pressing himself as close as humanly possible. Vash is glowing, Plant markings gently blazing on his skin. Wolfwood peels his mouth off of Vash’s just so he can look.
“God.” he breathes. All of the remaining air is punched out of his lungs at the sight under him. “God, you’re so fucking ethereal. The most beautiful man on this whole damn planet.” Vash smiles up at him, the markings glowing even brighter.
“I don’t know about that,” he smirks, playfully running his hands down Wolfwood's back. “From where I’m sitting, the most beautiful man here is you .” Nicholas’ face goes red, and he hides in Vash’s neck.
“Damn it, blondie, you can’t just say shit like that to me.” he mumbles into the fabric of Vash’s shirt. Vash’s chest rumbles with laughter under Nicholas’ palms.
Wolfwood feels a drop of liquid on the back of his neck. Then another. His head whips up.
“Are you crying–” he starts, but Vash’s face is dry, and looks just as surprised as he feels. Another droplet falls on his cheek, his hair. He looks at Vash and sees droplets falling onto him too. They look up at the sky together, eyes wide.
All the stars have been blotted out by clouds, clouds that logically should not be forming on a desert planet. But they sit and watch the dusky sky mottle completely into a solid sheet of gray. The wind picks up and whips their hair around, as water starts to pour from the clouds.
They’re soaked near instantly, the rainfall so heavy it almost hurts . Nicholas looks down at Vash, who’s already looking at him, his face awestruck. His hair is plastered to his forehead, the rain falling down his cheeks like tears. Nicholas is filled with such a rush of affection that it makes him dizzy.
He kisses Vash again, hard and bruising. He can’t help it, now that he’s allowed to. His heart is full to bursting, almost painful in the way it forces his ribs to expand with the pressure of his joy. (The pressure behind his ribs is eight tons per square inch)
The rain continues to pour around them.