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mydetheturk · 1 year ago

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Title: I Don't Want You to Leave (Will You Hold My Hand?) Author: mydetheturk Rating: T+, bordering on M,so we'll call it M for uh. mildly graphic depictions of how much pain Vash is in. Word Count: 6,730 Warnings: Vash spends a lot of time in pain in this one, Vash has Chronic Pain and it messes with his head, There's a handful of implied and understated "wolfwood has been fucked up" moments as well. If there's anything else I probably should have warned about, let me know and I'll update the post.

Summary: Vash knows, intimately, when the seasons change and there are going to be storms. He tries to avoid being in places where the seasonal lightning storms can turn into water storms, but he isn't always successful. He's lucky this year, in that he has people who care so much about him.

Author's Note: This would normally be going up on AO3, but I'm still waiting for our wife (AO3) to return from the war (Dealing with the DDoS attack), so y'all get to read it here on tumblr. (and if i have to, i will make a dreamwidth/unearth my fanfiction.net account so its a little easier to read. You'll be updated on that.)

This is for @mashwoodweek's Day Two! the prompt I chose was "Seasons," the title is from Sam Smith's "Stay With Me" (feat. Mary J. Bilge).

Enjoy.

~~~

Seasons don't truly exist on No Man's Land. It's hot year round, but people argue about which times of year are worse. Hot, hotter, lightning, and sandstorm are the generally accepted "seasons,” if one deigns to use the term at all. It's easy to track the passing of the days through the weeks and the months, so long as one can track them. Vash has long since given up on tracking individual days, letting the sands wash over him in an endless loop. It's easier for him to notice when the seasons shift; not necessarily between hot and hotter, but between those and the times of the year when lightning and sandstorms are more common.

His body aches, between his prosthetic and all of the scars and metal plates and how he's missing the cartilage in one of his knees. Vash has noticed Meryl gets snippy when the rare storm has rolled in during the off-season, and this is his first lightning season with Meryl and Wolfwood together.

(Right after Wolfwood found him again didn't count – the season was almost over by that point and Vash's memories of them before July were shattered into pieces. The season after is the hottest part of the year, where Vash learned exactly how far Wolfwood pushes himself, even in the heat, to keep Vash and Meryl safe and alive. The sound of a glass ampule shattering is one that haunts Vash in his dreams, when he dreams.)

So Vash knows, intimately, when storms will be rolling in, sand or lightning. He suspects Meryl knows too, can see the pinching of her brow and the way she rubs at her eyes, even if she often doesn't quite realize it until it's too late.

“There's a storm coming,” Vash says, staring out the window of the truck. There's not a cloud in the sky, but Vash knows. There's a pressure in the air that wasn't quite there an hour ago, a hint of something in the way the sands roll off the endless dunes.

Wolfwood sits up, scanning the horizon. “You sure?” he asks. His tone isn't quite disbelieving, because he knows, even more intimately than Meryl, what Vash is. (Vash had spooked him once, bolting upright from a nightmare of July. Wolfwood had been twitching in his sleep, and Vash had hovered his hand over Wolfwood's shoulder, and Wolfwood had woken. Vash's speed had been the only thing to save him from a barely-conscious Wolfwood lashing out. When Vash tried to question him about it, Wolfwood had looked at him with haunted eyes and said he looked like Knives. Vash has never asked, and he probably won't, but he avoids looking at himself in the mirror for a reason.)

“Yes,” Vash states.

Meryl nods. “Alright. Should we push on to the next town or do you guys think we should find a place to hunker down?” She's already got the pinched look in the corners of her eyes, just visible behind her sunglasses.

Vash's knee, the one missing its cartilage, is the first thing to hurt when lightning storms roll through. He taps his fingers against it, thinking while Wolfwood grabs the map and does some math.

“It'll probably be another day or so before it hits this area,” Vash says. The pain will radiate outwards, and the deepest scars will start hurting next. “A town would be nice.”

Meryl's grip tightens minutely on the steering wheel. Wolfwood moves his fingers against the map, picking out coordinates.

“I think we might make it to the next town before then,” Wolfwood says. “If we drive through the night.”

Meryl bares her teeth at the windshield and Vash grimaces. He can't drive, and if he's timed it right, by the time the suns set and night has fallen, Meryl won't be able to any more.

“Don't give me that, Shortstack, Blondie. I can drive.”

“Last time you drove you crashed the truck!” Meryl snaps back.

“How was I supposed to know fucking Zazie was going to show up like that! I don't control the shit they do!” Wolfwood protests.

Meryl slows the truck to a stop and throws it in park so she can bang her head against the wheel a couple of times.

"Ah! Meryl!” Vash leans forward and pulls her back from the wheel, readjusting her sunglasses.

"Fine. Nick can drive. Don't crash the truck,” Meryl says. She's making a face like she thinks she's going to regret letting Wolfwood drive.

"We'll pull over at sunsdown and make the switch then, yeah?” Vash suggests. Meryl sighs and gets the truck started again. She nods, though, a frown on her lips and her brows furrowed. She doesn't mind when Wolfwood drives the bike, but he's the only one of the three who can glide Angelina between the dunes with both Vash and Meryl, the sidecar, and the Punisher at once and not crash her. But the truck is her baby, was Roberto’s before July. It’s one of the few things she has left of her mentor.

“Works for me.” Wolfwood settles in to nap until sunsdown, his (Vash's old) sunglasses shading his eyes. His breathing evens out, steadies as he drifts into sleep until Meryl will come to a stop in a few hours.

“Go until you need to rest, yeah?” Vash says quietly, once he's reasonably sure Wolfwood's out for the afternoon. “Don't push yourself too hard. If we have to stop sooner, we can.”

“It's fine, Vash,” Meryl says. She smiles at him in the rear view. “If we come across a way station, we can make the switch there. Sound good?”

Vash nods. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

Clouds start drifting across the sky as they drive on. The ache in Vash's bones slowly starts to deepen, and he makes a hissing noise when Meryl hits a particularly rough patch of rock and sand.

”Sorry,” she says, eyes soft in the mirror.

”It's fine,” Vash replies. It's not as bad as it could be – not as bad as it will be, in just a few more hours time. Human painkillers don't have much of an effect on him, only make him irritable and paranoid. The only thing that really kills the pain is heat, whether that be from a soak in a hot bath or from being trapped under blankets by Meryl and Wolfwood. Mostly from Wolfwood, if Vash is honest with himself – something about the experiments Wolfwood has gone through leave him burning hotter than the average human. Not as hot as Vash should run, nor as hot as one of Vash's sisters, but far warmer than Meryl.

Another hour passes, the suns starting to settle low in the sky. A way station sits on the horizon, and Meryl angles the truck for it.

”Careful waking him,” she says. Like Vash needs the warning.

Vash places his hand on Wolfwood's shoulder, slowly adding pressure. Wolfwood wakes with a jolt anyway. He doesn't come up swinging, the way he has in the past, but he does startle, smacking his head against the window.

Vash pulls his hand back, murmuring quietly. “We're in the truck, Wolfwood. We're coming up to a way station.”

It still takes a moment for Wolfwood to blink himself fully conscious. There'd been an incident while Vash was Eriks, one that neither Wolfwood nor Meryl would talk about. Meryl because she doesn't know the details, and Wolfwood because even now he holds his cards close to his chest. There's something different about the ampules that Wolfwood still doesn't talk about. Vash hasn't had the heart to take one and crack it open to inspect it.

Wolfwood sleeps deeper now, though, if he thinks he's somewhere the Eye can't touch.

So, the truck, mostly.

“How late's it?” Wolfwood asks. His voice is a little slurred, raspy with sleep.

Vash smiles, glancing at Meryl in the mirror and seeing her eyes crinkle with her own smile. “The parent sun should set here in about an hour.”

Wolfwood hums, stretches out. His back crackles against the seat. “Great. Could use a bit to walk around.”

“Another couple minutes,” Meryl says in the front seat. She presses the fingers of one hand to her eye and smooths out her brow. From the one movement alone, Vash knows Meryl's starting to feel the shift in pressure. He can feel it in his stump now as well.

Wolfwood is fully awake by the time they pull in at the way station, Meryl pulling the truck up to a charger. It's got enough to get them to the next town, but it's always good to recharge the truck when they find a way station.

“Gonna take a bit,” Meryl says. “Wanna get some supplies while we're here?”

“We should probably get dinner so Wolfwood doesn't have to catch us some worms again,” Vash teases. Meryl makes a face that Wolfwood snickers at while he lights up a cigarette.

His deep sigh at the first inhale pokes something brittle in Vash's heart. Smoke filters away from Wolfwood as he goes from the truck to the little store of the way station. Vash catches that he'd grabbed their canteens to refill while inside. Its sweet of him to remember.

Meryl stretches out and makes her way inside as well, while Vash watches them both.

He loves them. They love him, refuse to leave his side despite everything.

With a soft smile, Vash pours himself out of the truck. There's an ache in his hips that he hadn't realized had started up, and he stumbles slightly. They're the only ones at the way station right now, and Vash is glad for the lack of witnesses to his fumble.

The sooner they can get to a town with an inn, the better.

Inside, Vash finds Meryl and Wolfwood debating the merits of the various shelf stable and easily snackable foods in the way station's shelves. They're doing it surprisingly quietly for them; he's used to them being much louder about it. Wolfwood's the one with a basket in hand; the canteens have been slung over Meryl's shoulders. The way she's walking, Wolfwood must have filled them first thing.

Good man.

Vash drapes himself over Wolfwood's back and makes a noise deep in his chest. Wolfwood absently reaches back and pets Vash's hair as he continues to debate with Meryl.

“I'm telling you, the red ones taste better,” he says. He's holding a pack of gummy candy. It looks like straws, and there's a little bit of something crystallized on the outside.

“They're too sweet,” Meryl responds. “The black ones are better.”

“You think I like that bitter crap?” Wolfwood makes a face, his nose crinkling cutely.

Vash reaches around and grabs a handful of both types to inspect them. The red ones are coated in sugar crystals, but the black ones have salt on them. He didn't think anywhere outside Sanforrd made the black ones like that.

“I like them both,” he says.

Both of them stare at Vash. They're still not used to him expressing the things he likes and doesn't like. Meryl lights up though, and Wolfwood softens under Vash's weight.

“We'll get some of both, then,” Meryl decides. She grabs a small bag and scoops a handful of black straws into it, handing it to Vash, who drops his own into the bag as well. She does the same with the red ones, and Vash hands the bag to Wolfwood, who clutches the bag tightly. “We should grab more suckers too, Nick,” Meryl points out.

“Way ahead of you, shortie,” Wolfwood says. He's already moving to grab another bag to stick suckers in. Vash lets him drift away.

Vash has noticed as they've traveled together that Wolfwood doesn't like bitter things – he prefers sweet, and prefers sour to sweet, even. Meryl is the one that likes bitter foods despite how the taste makes her nose crinkle. She's cute like that.

They continue drifting through the way station, all three of them idly watched by the station's manager behind the counter. Vash enjoys watching Meryl and Wolfwood debate. He really doesn't have many preferences, other than the occasional head shake when one of them presents something for his opinion. Most of the proteins are repackaged worm or thoma, and Vash doesn't care which he gets, when he's eating. He does prefer thoma jerky, however, and he's pleased to see that one of them has placed a couple of packages in the basket for him. Meryl's the pickiest eater of the three of them, but it's alright. Vash also doesn't see the point of snatching worm larva from the air and crunching on it raw.

He'll leave that to Wolfwood.

The truck is long-charged by the time they finish in the way station, laden down with enough to keep them going through the night and into the next day if they have to. Vash sets their prizes down in the back seat, Wolfwood’s bag of suckers and gummy red sticks in the front while Wolfwood inspects the truck and Meryl unhooks it from the charging station. Vash is riding in the back; the passenger’s seat won’t give him enough room to stretch out properly.

Meryl keeps touching her face and smoothing out her eyebrows absently. Vash can feel the ache in his bones and he keeps having to dodge Wolfwood's concerned looks. Meryl hasn't caught on just yet, but Wolfwood has. Vash watched the way his brows twitched and his eyes narrowed when he put all the pieces together.

Wolfwood knows. From what Vash has seen, Wolfwood doesn't get the aches from lightning storms, the rare one or two that've occurred outside the season. Sandstorms get him down, putting his hackles up and making him more leery of everything around him. Vash isn't quite sure if it's his body aching or if it's the sound of sand blowing against everything, but the sandstorm season they've spent together already has Vash's heart aching for him.

“Who wants shotgun?” Wolfwood asks, sliding into the driver's seat of the truck. “Or are you both holing up in the back?” He grumbles a bit as he adjusts the seat. “Jesus, Shortstack, how do you even fit in here?”

“Not all of us have legs a mile long, Nick,” Meryl deadpans. She's smirking a little though. She likes how long Wolfwood's legs are. She likes draping herself over them when they all share a bed before they actually turn in for the night, if they've found a motel to crash at.

Meryl would drape herself all over Vash's legs too, but she claims he's too bony in the joints. Vash is longer and slightly broader in the shoulders than Wolfwood, but Wolfwood does have more mass. Vash has conceded the point.

She climbs into the back with Vash today, though, scooting into the middle and up against Vash's side.

“Drive, chauffeur,” Meryl says. She says it with a giggle and Vash nuzzles his face into her hair.

“Yeah, yeah,” Wolfwood says. There's a smile in his eyes behind the sunglasses, though, when Vash catches them in the mirror.

The parent sun has set by the time they get moving again, and the child isn't far behind. Only one of the moons is full tonight, the others in various states of waxing and waning. This far out in the sand wastes, there aren't many radio stations to catch. Vash and Meryl share a glance when the static hissing quietly through the truck's radio catches a station and Wolfwood changes it within a few words.

EOM? Meryl draws on Vash's thigh.

MAYBE, Vash traces back on Meryl's hand. It's one of those things Wolfwood either won't or can't talk about.

Meryl keeps pressing at her eyes and the movement has extended to her temples.

“You should rest, Meryl,” Vash says.

“I'm fine,” Meryl says. “My eyes are bothering me, is all. I think the drive was a lot today.”

“Passenger's side pocket has a bottle of painkillers, shortie,” Wolfwood pipes up from the front seat. “Gonna storm, remember?”

Meryl blinks, and Vash watches the wheels turn in the light of one moon. “Oh. How did I forget? How do I always forget?”

The pressure difference of a storm rolling through wears her out, and Meryl's too stubborn to give in at first. Wolfwood had first hand experience after July. Two lightning seasons worth of experience, and three seasons worth of sandstorms.

Vash feels like an outsider at Wolfwood's words, but there's nothing to be done. They looked after each other for two years, trying to find any indication that he was still alive.

Vash is grateful for it.

He is grateful for it. Really. He is.

The heartbroken way Wolfwood had given him his Colt back is another feature of his dreams, soft and broken and so, so apologetic. Like he desperately didn't want to pull Vash back into life on the run but couldn't stay with Granny and Lina himself. There are people relying on Wolfwood, more than just Vash and Meryl. Vash has seen the envelopes he sends back to December and Hopeland with Meryl's reports. He hasn't tried to convince them to swing back to Hopeland, but Vash knows Wolfwood would like to go back.

Meryl leans up and forward, reaching into the passenger's side and rummaging around in it. Vash steadies her, hand on her waist while she leans.

“Got it,” Meryl says, and Vash pulls her back. She twists the cap off after squinting at it. Meryl's nose crinkles. “This is the stuff that makes me sleep, isn't it?” she asks.

Wolfwood waves a hand. “Maybe. I just grabbed whatever.”

Vash peers over her shoulder at the bottle. The moons give off just enough light for him to see, even if Meryl's thumb has Wolfwood's handwriting covered.

Meryl sighs, making Wolfwood scoff. “You need it anyway.” He reaches back and pokes at them. Vash taps Wolfwood's finger with one of his own. “Take your meds and get some sleep. You too, Spikey.”

Grumbling, Meryl grabs one of the canteens and takes two of the little pills.

“I'll keep you company for a while longer, Wolfwood,” Vash says.

Wolfwood withdraws his hand and rummages in the passenger's seat for a sucker. Meryl's given him enough of an earful over smoking in the truck.

“Do what you want,” Wolfwood says. His attention drifts back to the sands.

The truck rumbles easily under Vash, and Meryl snuggles into his coat.

(It's not his original SEEDS Project coat from Luida and Brad, though it is from Home. Their first “mission” after finding Vash again had to drag him Home to get him checked out. Vash had gotten a new coat then; no matter how hard Wolfwood and Meryl had scrubbed, they couldn't get the original coat clean and red again.

Wolfwood had taken to wearing it alongside Vash's darkened shooting glasses, and it soothed something in Vash's heart seeing it. Wolfwood didn't wear it all the time, but the fact remained.)

Meryl grumbles a little bit; she soothes and starts drifting as Vash pets her hair. The tightness in her eyes fades as she drifts away into sleep on Vash.

Vash drifts in and out as well, jerking into full wakefulness at one point when Wolfwood brings the truck to a stop. His leg had fallen asleep and off the back set, jolting pain up his leg.

Vash's gasp of pain has Wolfwood looking at him over his shoulder. “Sorry,” Wolfwood explains, “I need to stretch out. We'll start up again in a few.”

“Time's it?” Vash asks. He presses the heel of his palm down his thigh, hoping the pressure will help with the ache.

“Late. Early? Parent sun’ll probably be rising after a while, if the clouds aren't too thick.” Wolfwood gets out of the truck, easing the door closed so he doesn't wake Meryl. Vash watches as he lights up a cigarette, flipping his lighter instinctively as he does. Wolfwood paces back and forth for a bit while he smokes and stretches out his back and shoulders. If Vash listens hard enough, when Wolfwood stretches his arms up and over his shoulders and leans backward, he can hear Wolfwood's vertebrae pop against one another. Vash has run his flesh and bone hand up Wolfwood's back and has an intimate knowledge of those vertebrae.

There are more than there should be.

Wolfwood finishes his cigarette surprisingly quickly, getting back in the truck after just one.

“Everything okay?” Vash asks.

“Just wanna get to the next town before the storms roll through,” Wolfwood says in a rare bout of honesty.

He tries.

Vash loves him for it.

Wolfwood makes a face back at Vash in the mirror. “Go back to fucking sleep, Blondie. We've still got another couple hours, probably.”

“Alright, alright.” Vash can't seem to kill the smile on his face, though. He hides his smile in Meryl's hair, peering at Wolfwood over her. Meryl snuffles and snuggles in closer, and Vash isn't sure how his chest plate is comfortable for her.

It's dark now, properly dark, now that Vash processes it. Wolfwood has the glasses off, and the moons have either fallen or the clouds have rolled in thicker. Vash rumbles a purr deep in his chest and closes his eyes. Meryl's weight is comforting.

He drifts again to the sound of Wolfwood humming.

When Vash opens his eyes again, his whole body aches. It's settled in deep, and Vash makes a noise as he eases himself upward. Meryl's no longer on him, having migrated to the front seat at some point. They must have stopped after Vash drifted off, deeper than he thought.

“Hey sleepyhead,” Wolfwood says. The sunglasses are back on his face. Vash quietly mourns losing seeing his eyes. “How're you feeling?”

Vash blinks and thinks about it. “Sore,” is what he says. Its a bit of an understatement.

Meryl hums and leans over the center console to look at him. She's also wearing sunglasses, but he can see how she's managed to bruise under her eyes by pressing at them. “Yeah, me too.”

Vash finally puts a word to what he's been seeing. “How's your head?” he asks.

“I'm being stabbed in the eyes and the thought of driving is making me feel sick,” Meryl says. “Even with the good pills, I feel like someone's stabbing me in the temples with a dull knife.”

It's a bad one, then. Vash leans forward slightly and taps their heads together.

He hums at her, a low tone in his throat that he's only heard out of another Plant a brief handful of times. Another Plant was trying to soothe him while she was fading. The other times had been at Home, while hiding in the Plant Chamber of the ship; the other Plants sensed his upset and sang for him.

“How much further?” Vash asks. The words come out of his mouth with a rumble and Meryl blinks at him from behind her sunglasses.

“Not sure. Parent sun should be up, but the cloud cover's pretty thick. We might be in town a couple days,” Wolfwood says. He nudges Meryl back into the seat so he can get at the gear shift.

Vash agrees with that statement. The pain will likely knock him down for at least one of those days and he's going to need to take off his prosthetic.

Blinking out the window, Vash sees what Wolfwood means. This season, at least in this area, might be incredibly active. Vash hasn't been through here in a couple of decades; not at this time of year anyway.

They might need to leave sooner rather than later, once Vash and Meryl are recovered well enough. Wolfwood's going to have to be their main point of contact while they're in town. Rain is slightly more common in lightning season, but still rare, and Vash’s body disagrees with rain.

“Sooner would be better,” Vash says, laying back. He can't quite stretch out fully, but he can get his feet up on the window frame so he's on his back. Meryl coos at him; there's a tired note to it, though.

Vash dozes again to the sound of Wolfwood humming and Meryl messing with the radio. She finally settles on a station that's playing music, someone singing with a guitar. Wolfwood hums along with the song, fingers gently tapping to the beat.

“It's not a sin if it don't make me cry,” Wolfwood croons under his breath. Vash idly wishes he could hear Wolfwood sing for real as he lets the movement of the truck rock him to sleep again.

Vash wakes as the truck pulls to a stop. The pain eclipses his body, but there are points from where the pain radiates the most. His (lack of) arm, the chest plate, the knee where his cartilage is just gone.

“We made it to town,” Meryl says quietly. She's peering at him from over the back of the front seat. “Nick's going in and getting us a room. He's gonna try to get one with a bathroom, if they have one.”

Vash grunts slightly, his breath rattling. It's not the injury rattle, though it is pained.

“Just a bit longer, Vash,” Meryl says. “Nick should be out soon.” She reaches over the center console and takes Vash's hand in hers, rubbing her thumb over the back. His glove prevents skin-to-skin contact but for his index and pinky, but she's never really seemed to care. Vash thinks he loves that about her.

True to Meryl's word, Wolfwood comes back out of the building soon after.

He leans against the back door of the truck, breathing deeply a couple of times before he opens it. “Got a room for a couple of days,” he says. “Its not much, only one bed, but there's a private bathroom. It sounds like it might even have a tub we can use.” Wolfwood reaches out and pets Meryl's hair briefly.

He's worried and bad at showing it. Vash rattles a weak purr at him. Wolfwood strokes Vash's cheek from nose to ear.

“I'll get you two settled, then the truck moved. Shortstack, you good to walk?”

“Yeah. Might take a minute if there's stairs though.”

“Convinced them to give us a first floor room. Didn't want to risk you two with anything higher up.”

Vash loves him. Wolfwood claims he's not kind and then he does this? Liar.

Meryl gets out of the truck and shoves her sunglasses as far up her face as she can. She's got her shoulders hunched up and her jacket around her shoulders, the collar flipped up to hide some of her face and block out extra light. Vash lets Wolfwood slide him out of the truck into his arms to carry Vash bridal style. Vash swallows heavily, and Wolfwood murmurs something against his forehead. Vash doesn't quite hear it over the grinding of his joints, but he tries to get his arm around Wolfwood's neck anyway. Not that he needs to – Wolfwood can carry Vash with no problems even easier than he slings the Punisher around.

Wolfwood kicks the door closed behind him once he's got Vash safe in his arms. Meryl makes a cranky noise but goes inside first, holding the inn's door open for them. Vash process the fact that the innkeeper calls Wolfwood Padre but doesn't get much more as a wave of pain cramps up his leg.

“Easy, angel,” Wolfwood murmurs.

“Soon,” Vash mumbles. “It's gonna storm soon.”

The wind is kicking up – Vash curls his body as he can and presses his face into Wolfwood's throat. He's always hated this season, tries to avoid the parts of No Man's Land that are in it whenever he can. The storms that flare up out of season he can handle – most of them are over quickly. When the seasons – and Vash uses the word loosely – change, Vash knows intimately. Especially when he's gone into an area where the season's already moved in. The red sands should have tipped him off when he spotted them two days before, but all he'd thought about at the time was a flash of memory he didn't realize he'd lost.

Vash thinks Meryl leads them through the inn to the room the innkeeper lent them, but the next little while is a blur, tucked into Wolfwood's throat as he is. He'll probably have markings from Wolfwood's rosary on his face when he emerges, Vash thinks with a horrible giggle. It's better than the Plant markings that show up. Had he lost Meryl and Wolfwood that day on the sandsteamer, Vash wouldn't have blamed them.

Another pulse of pain, sharper than the way his stump pulses with his heartbeat. Vash might make a noise. He's not terribly sure. Tears leak out of the corners of his eyes, and a gentle hand wipes them away. The size of the fingers indicate Meryl. They're small and delicate, calloused in a different way from Wolfwood's, from Vash's own.

Wolfwood gently deposits Vash on the bed and disappears through one of the doors for a moment when Vash cracks open his eyes. The sound of water hits Vash's ears and he shudders a breath. “’sit hot?” he slurs.

“Nick's checking, Vash,” Meryl says. He thinks she says that, anyway. He's not sure he hears her properly over the sound of the now-howling wind. He lets her manhandle him slightly to get his coat off, lets her take off his shooting glasses and place them delicately on the bedside table. He can hear the click of that just fine, but the shape of the words from his own partner's voice? Clearly not.

He flinches when she moves to take off his prosthetic, eyes half-lidded and heat spreading from the end. She doesn't need to be doing this, he thinks, she's already hurting and feeling terrible.

Someone starts petting his hair, and Vash leans into the touch. This, he can handle at the moment. A second set of hands joins in, carefully getting Vash's shirt off him. Vash sucks in a slightly panicked breath, but he knows those hands. They're Nico’s.

“We've got you, Vash,” Nico says. “I ain't letting anyone take you away again.”

This time, he lets them take off his arm. Nico unhooks Vash’s gun belt, slides the leather from around his waist and thigh. He doesn't crack a joke or anything about it, which means Vash looks as bad as he feels. One of them gets Vash's boots, and Nico disappears for a moment. Meryl wrestles with Vash's pants, and Vash helps where he can. Trying to get his leg to bend is impossible, though, and she slides the pants off his legs. Vash gasps, but Meryl's seen him like this before.

The wind howls, and all Vash can hear is the sound of his fluid pulsing in his ears over the burning of rubble and the crashing of ships. It's bad, then.

A hand on his shoulder has Vash flinching back, grabbing it in his own and squeezing. Blinking fiercely, Vash focuses his vision on Nico, who just looks at him with too soft eyes. Too soft for Vash to deserve.

“Easy, Angel,” Nico says again.

“Nico,” Vash rasps. He lets go of Nico's arm and reaches out with his hand.

Nico comes easily, tucking Vash under his chin and into his chest. “I'm here.”

“Meryl?”

A small body leans against Vash's back. “I'm here too,” Meryl says. Vash slowly calms down.

“Sorry,” Vash mumbles eventually. Meryl shakes her head into Vash's shoulder blades and Nico snorts softly into Vash's hair. Vash is trapped, but not in danger.

“Storm rolled in faster than any of us thought,” Nico says. Vash can hear it now, over Nico and Meryl's steady pulses. It's not a regular lightning storm; there's rain too. It could be flooding where they were an hour or two ago.

“It's why my head is so bad,” Meryl says. Her lips tickle against Vash's spine.

“And pro'ly why you're such a wreck,” Nico adds. He trails his fingers up and down Vash's side.

Vash just nods. Okay. That's... that's fine.

“Lemme get you up,” Nico says, and Meryl pulls back a little. Vash sways slightly as he sits up on his own, and Nico's hand doesn't leave his shoulder even as Nico stands up off the bed. “Water should still be hot, but you like it hotter'n we do anyway.”

Vash blinks a couple of times as he sluggishly processes this. “That sounds... good.” Meryl slides off the bed beside Vash, her hands hovering around his waist, just above his underwear.

“May I...?” she trails off. She's always trailed off if she's asking to take off his underwear, and she's always asked.

“I don't think I can bend?” Vash offers. He instinctively tips his head slightly and the movement twinges the nerves and tendons and muscles down his back. He hadn't forgotten about that particular injury – it just wasn’t as prominent until right now.

Meryl presses a soft kiss to Vash's sternum, and her hands settle on the waistband of his underwear, peeling them off carefully. Nico holds Vash steady as he steps up and out, hissing as Vash tries to bend his knee and fails. They end up on the pile that Vash dimly recognizes as his clothes.

Nico carefully manhandles Vash into the bathroom, where there's a tub of still-steaming water waiting for him. Vash could cry. Vash might, in fact, be crying. He's making awkward hiccupy noises, anyway.

“I got ya, I got ya,” Nico says. He scoops Vash up and carefully deposits him in the tub. It's an old clawfoot, big and deep enough for Vash to stretch out near-fully in the water.

It's deliciously hot, and he sinks in shoulder deep. The heat is already sinking into his body, almost too much before his muscles start to relax. Vash groans as his locking muscles and joints unlock. It's almost painful, but in the opposite direction of actual pain.

Vash makes a curious noise when Nico pets his hair. Not even the deep rumble of thunder covering up Nico's words could prevent Vash from staying in the tub and Vash makes a protesting noise and sinks down almost nose deep. Nico chuckles and kisses Vash's forehead.

Nico leaves Vash in the bathroom to soak in the heat. Vash stares at the door for a while before he slowly raises up so his mouth's not in the water any longer. He can just hear someone – Nico, by the footsteps – walking around in the other room.

With a heavy sigh, Vash tips his head back against the head of the tub. The heat is helping. He dozes in the tub; the storm raging outside can't chase him out of it now.

The door creaks open and Vash sluggishly blinks his eyes a few times so he can see.

Wolfwood is at the door, stripped down to his shirtsleeves. He's shoeless and as Vash roves his eyes up and down over Wolfwood's frame, he notices little things missing. His sleeve garters, his shoulder holsters, his belt – all are missing from Wolfwood's body. Vash is a little too tired to parse much more at the moment though.

Wolfwood looks softer than usual, dressed down and not on alert for once.

He pads in to check on Vash. “Hey angel,” Wolfwood says. “How you feeling?”

“Hi yourself,” Vash responds. “Warmer. Better than before. Doesn't hurt nearly as much.”

Wolfwood smiles, one of the real soft ones that Vash loves.

“Good. Shorty's out like a light again. Head's still killing her.” Wolfwood sits on a bucket beside the tub that Vash hadn't noticed before. “Gonna wash your hair, alright? Since you're already in here.”

Vash narrows his eyes a smidge at the uncharacteristic generosity. Wolfwood's been extra sweet the last day, and if Vash had more energy it would be putting him on edge. As it is, Vash wouldn't mind if Wolfwood washed his hair. Wolfwood shouldn't, but its not like Vash can stop him.

“Fine,” Vash says. Wolfwood's smile turns more tender.

“Good. I managed to charm the innkeeper out of some soap. It's not half bad, either.” Wolfwood rolls up his shirtsleeves. “I'm gonna get a cup and the soap. I'll be back in a minute, sweetheart.” Wolfwood tips Vash's face up with his fingertips and gives him a careful upside-down kiss. Wolfwood disappears out the door but he returns just as fast, a cup and a bar of soap in his hands and his sleeve garters back on his arms.

“Could've taken off your shirt,” Vash says. He doesn't mind, really. The garters only emphasize Wolfwood's muscle in a tease that Wolfwood usually plays up.

“Not just yet, pretty thing,” Wolfwood replies. “Don't think you'll be up to anything frisky by the time I'm done with you, anyway.” He's got a slight smirk playing on his lips.

Jerk.

Wolfwood combs his fingers through Vash's hair a couple of times and fills the cup with water. It's still warm on Vash's skin, and Vash sighs deeply at the touch. Wolfwood scratches lightly as he works the soap into a lather in Vash's hair, making Vash flutter his eyes closed and a low purr escape from his slightly parted lips. Despite how he's ached the last day, this is nice.

Vash lets Nico manhandle him so he can wash Vash's hair, carefully working his fingers through the dusty strands. Nico's humming that song from this morning, the one from the car. The humming dies off, and Vash makes an inquisitive noise. “Gotta rinse out your hair, sweetheart,” Nico says. “Lean forward for me?” Vash tips forward; from the corner of his eye he sees Nico scoop the cup through the water so he can pour it over Vash's head. The motion repeats a few times as Nico rinses out the soap and the sand and anything else Vash might have in his hair. Nico runs his thumbs up and down the back of Vash's neck a few times. Vash moans a little bit when Nico rubs out a particularly tense knot; he knows he's going to get teased by the tone of Nico's half-snort.

“Gettin' you all worn out and I ain't even got you in bed yet, sweetheart,” Nico teases.

“Don't be mean,” Vash whines. All he wants now is to curl up with his two favorite people and sleep off what aches remain.

Nico's lips press against the top of Vash's spine in a gentle kiss. They're slightly chapped – Nico must have worried himself sick over Vash and Meryl being down.

“Let's get you out of the tub, yeah?” Nico says. The skin where he's pressing his lips to tingles under his touch.

Vash leans back up with some crackling, but there's less pain overall. Nico guides Vash out of the tub, helping him stand and drying him off with a soft, worn towel. Vash's sleep clothes are already in the bathroom, much to his surprise. Nico'd been ready whenever Vash was, apparently. Slowly, Nico helps him dress; Vash is worn out by the time they're done and the sound of the storm still going outside is distant. Nico scoops Vash up in his arms again, back in the bridal carry from earlier to take Vash to the bed where Meryl has long since fallen asleep in. Nico makes sure to deposit Vash behind Meryl where he can lay with his full arm free. Vash presses himself in against Meryl's back, arm slinging around her waist.

“Coming to bed?” he asks over his shoulder.

“Nah. Gonna be up a while yet.” Nico throws a lightweight sheet over the two of them. Meryl snuffles down into it in her sleep, tucking up against Vash. “Rest. I want you full up if we have to run out of town if someone realizes who we are.” Nico strokes Vash's hair again and goes to the door, where Vash can hear him messing with the Punisher.

Vash will rest. When he's done, he'll make Nico rest. If he can't, Meryl will. Vash closes his eyes to the sound of Nico cleaning his gun, the storm on its way out, and Meryl's soft snores. He might not sleep again, but he will rest.

#mashwoodweek #trigun #trigun stampede #vash the stampede #meryl stryfe #nicholas d. wolfwood #mashwood #myde writes #there's also a song wolfwood sings along to the radio #its one of my favorite personal ww songs it's called drink the water and its by justin cross #me: i dont know if i can post this rn #also me: FUCK IT WE'RE DOING IT LIVE -slams post now button-

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