#blankticket 21

[punisheye]

It's a short phone call, one he's almost surprised was even answered.

"Hey, we gotta talk. In person. Meet me at..."

—

It's a quiet park in Fibonacci, a pop of green splattered with red and orange from fallen leaves sitting among the bronze and steam. Kids are at school, people are at work, so it's mostly empty for now save for the occasional dog walker.

Wolfwood's sitting quietly at a picnic table, rolling a toothpick in his teeth. This isn't going to be easy, he's been putting it off for a bit. They... haven't really spoken much lately. Doesn't feel right. He doesn't know if his friend's going to want to speak to him again after this.

"Thanks for comin'," he says, dropping a bag of leftover Halloween candy on the table. "Hope I ain't draggin' you away from anythin' important."

@blankticket

[punisheye]

It's one emotional gut punch after another. Wolfwood wants to respond, to get defensive, to tell Stamps that he's not giving up and shoving everyone away, but he's got very little fight left to give. Even when he was dying, his heart literally bleeding in his chest, he was able to fight more than this.

Christ, how pathetic.

His eyes snap up to Vash's face. It's been a long time since anyone's called him big brother—and something about it breaks something in him, but heals something at the same time.

Those kids... they wouldn't want him to give up, either. They all looked up to them. He was always their savior. They welcomed him home despite everything.

Still, that follow-up.

There's that anger, burning in those eyes, making the air thick with tension. Wolfwood exhales slowly.

"Yeah," he says slowly. "Yeah, I have been."

Wolfwood reaches over to bring that bag of candy back toward him. (He doesn't really want it. He'll probably just bring it with him next time he goes to the café.)

"...Still appreciate the talk," he continues. "Gotta do some thinkin'. Thanks for comin'. ...It was good t'see ya."

"This isn't who you are, Wolfwood. Giving up on yourself n'shovin' everyone away isn't any good. Things're just gonna get worse."

It's concerning to see just how lost and afraid Wolfwood has become; maybe that's par for the course, considering that up to now, the man had concluded that he truly was on his own.

Giving into fear leaves him nearly unrecognizable. He's so much better than this.

"Whatever you decide on doing next…" Vash tries to regather that glare of determination, and finds it easy to do for Wolfwood's sake. He braces his hands against the edge of the table. "If you really are sick of screwin' up your second chance, if you wanna quit giving it up, then live like you mean it."

Incensed by his own feelings, the Typhoon's self-aware enough to push himself up from the table. He's had enough, anyway. With fluid movement, he's soon standing tall behind where he sat.

"Stay away from my brother." Vash pauses, jaw visibly set, eyes furious. Then the Plant redirects that look toward the innocent bag of candy, quick to rein in his tone. That anger—even forcibly simmered, it's still palpable. "…I'll talk t'him myself.

"You're my big brother, too, Wolfwood." Family. Whether the priest liked it or not, it's the very same relation Naï has to him. Vash's hands come up to grab at his elbows, posture turned defensive from all this hurt.

"But you… You've been such a terrible friend."

[punisheye]

"I—" Well, really, he's not exactly sure. He expected a bit more rage, that Vash would drop the kindness for once because he killed his fucking brother and tell him to piss off, or something. But that's also not an entirely fair thought process, is it? Not when Stamps has shown him kindness and forgiveness time and time again.

Even after being shot dead; now after his brother dying.

He doesn't know where his lack of faith comes from. Even the undertaker had forgiven him back then, even though sometimes Wolfwood can still feel his throat in his hands. People loved him at his worst.

But it doesn't feel right to have Vash talking him through this. That Vash should feel like he needs to be here for him in this situation.

Wolfwood breathes in sharply through his teeth, eyes screwing shut.

"No," he finally says. I just thought you'd be angrier. "No. Fuck."

He shakes his head. Everything coming out of his mouth is making shit worse. Wolfwood drags both hands through his already messy hair.

"I don't know. What I'm thinkin'."

"No. … No, you know him better than that; care for him more, than just to leave it at that. That—That can't be it." Vash feels caught off-guard by his own words, the shock only building as he's hearing this defeatist talk once more from this Wolfwood. All this pain and silence and betrayal, mistake after mistake in not listening to those who love him, just for Wolfwood to conclude that he's alone?!

The Plant shifts how he sits, lowering his legs underneath the table and sitting up properly to address the other man. Alarmed, he holds tightly onto the side of the bench.

"What's… Happened to you?" Vash is unable to filter out the growing horror and disbelief, from either face or tone. "Did you call me here, thinking I wouldn't be here for you, either?"

[punisheye]

I really wish I didn't, either, he almost says.

Wolfwood's hand slides over the table again to the candy bag, but stops partway there. He feels a little bit like he's going to throw up, so he takes a moment to steady himself and let the late autumn breeze wash over him and maybe give him some clarity.

"...I didn't wanna give him anymore trouble," he says, voice low. "'Like I said, from the sounds a' things with our last conversation it don't seem like he wants anythin' to do with me."

As much as it hurts. They had been making slow, steady progress in understanding one another. It didn't always work, they still fought, and sometimes he could still see those tiny flickers of fear in the undertaker's eyes if he got too close, loomed too much. But it was getting better. Enough that he felt like he could go to Nicholas about it.

It had just been another mistake, another person he hurt.

He really... doesn't want to face any of them. He's so tired. It's all still fresh and raw and he's already reminded of it every single day, with that palpable distance between him and the man he loves.

But it's his own fault.

"Like he said... I'm on my own." He draws his hand away. "...He felt like the only guy I could turn to. I wanted him to hear me."

Vash is fast enough to disguise his winced expression by turning his head away again. He tilts his chin up, takes another deep breath, before his head hangs. Walked out on him? For a week?!

"Pissed" didn't nearly convey the state of mind that his predecessor would have to be in to resort to that—it's gutwrenching to hear just a little more detail; it makes all the difference.

The Plant doesn't like the way the lede was buried, more than it hurts to hear how his predecessor hadn't wanted to talk to him about this. It's painful to think that out of everyone, his murdered brother was the first to break the news—and that it stayed that way until now, and that neither Vash or Nicholas had wanted to talk, either.

"Wolfwood," he says, "I really wish you didn't do what you did."

It's… Getting harder not to give the old wolf the anger he's been expecting. Even with letting a sliver of the bitterness out through his tone, it doesn't even feel particularly good. But it felt wrong for Wolfwood to act so arrogant about this. It's not going to help either of them to give into it; the pacifist has to believe that. The position he finds himself in, here—it isn't too far off, now, from where Meryl had stood that morning out from Jeneora Rock. It's just that the worst has come to pass, already.

Right?

"Please don't tell me that's it. Don't you… Feel like being friends with Nicholas is worth chasin' after?" He sounds pained. "Why would you give up on him?"

[punisheye]

"Sorry. That crossed the line..." He mumbles upon seeing the way the younger Stampede tenses up. Jeez, he's really good at saying the wrong thing, isn't he? He feels extremely out of his element. Flying by the seat of his pants here, honestly.

He sits and listens quietly, and even if he might want to argue he's lost most of his fight. The candy wrapper is crumpled up in his palm. Too risky to try to make the shot into the nearby trashcan, the breeze could pick up and steal it away.

"I'll be honest," he grunts, which sounds funny coming from him. But he means it, at least. Because he wants things to be okay, and he wants to be able to properly coexist with his husband again without feeling like he's walking on eggshells. Without feeling like maybe it wasn't all a mistake. Shit hitting the fan all at once right after getting back from their honeymoon should have been a bad omen, right?

Wolfwood rubs his finger over his wedding band. It's a comforting gesture, despite everything.

"I already told Nicholas I ain't gonna come callin' again after he let me have it. He wants nothin' to do 'bout any of it. What the hell am I supposed to do 'bout him?"

Sit on my hands so I don't fuckin' hurt his feelings? He almost bites out, but thinks better of it.

And, unfortunately for Stamps, Wolfwood quickly squashes his hopes: "No. If he wants to, he ain't told me. Kinda surprised he didn't say nothin' to ya when he walked out on me for a week."

What comes out of Wolfwood's mouth first instantly has the Stampede stiffen in place, holding his breath. There's a moment or two where the man nearly looks like he'll actually snap at this crossed boundary, affirm that the priest shouldn't push his luck.

But, eager to keep the peace, the pacifist instead tilts his head further away and places the lollipop back into his mouth.

He doesn't perk up at what Wolfwood has to put forward next, either. Vash audibly crunches up the rest of the candy and removes the stick from his mouth, the sweet caramel dissolved from the sour taste of green apple.

"M'kay. Let's slow down a sec'." The wellbeing of his predecessor has been at the forefront of Stamps' mind—while it isn't surprising to hear that Vash has continued to act distantly even now, it's still concerning to hear. The plan sounds nice in some merits (certainly, he'd want these two to reaffirm their bond, especially since they're married now), but in some ways it sounded…

A lot like running away.

"Okay, so. Stay with me, 'cause it's gonna sound funny comin' from me, but maybe just be honest with him about what you're tryin' t'do, here? T-To start, at least. "Try bein' honest about how you feel, n'what you want, for both of you. Listen to how he's been feeling, too. "If he wants t'hear ideas from you, that'd be a good spot to bring it up, I think. It's just—um, kinda hard t'think about you goin' through with this without pissing off Nicholas even more, ahaha. So what's your plan for him...?

Stamps attempts not to sound so hopeful when he asks, head turning over his shoulder cautiously: "And—did Vash seem like he's wanted t'talk t'me about what happened…?"

[punisheye]

"Yer bein' so nice," he grumbles. "Especially after I told you I killed yer brother."

Even if he didn't land the final blow, it wouldn't have happened if he hadn't gone.

...Still, as much as he'd like for Stamps to shout at him, the words do resonate with him. He hears them, he appreciates them, and deep down he's relieved that this maybe, just maybe, hasn't soured the odd little friendship that's blossomed between them in the past year-and-a-half.

Wolfwood bites into half of the peanut butter cup and remembers that he doesn't even like these things, but he's not going to waste it. He chews slowly.

He swears he can hear that shadow huffing, can practically envision him turning his back to hide embarrassment. Wolfwood's eyebrow twitches. He's still ever at odds with his heart, but he needs to soothe and nurture it and the parts of himself he accepted because the people he loved still loved him despite it. Even if that guy could be such a fucking asshole.

Just like him.

"He's always gonna be safe in there. Whether he likes it or not." Wolfwood sees him in his dreams, sometimes. He shoves the other half of the candy into his mouth. "Say, I've been thinkin'..."

Trailing off, he turns his head to the side, brows furrowing.

"...Me n'Vash haven't been the same since... well, I..." He closes his eyes. "Feels like he's pullin' away from me. ...The house don't even feel like it's mine, lately. I don't know."

He's not looking for relationship advice, especially not from this guy, God forbid.

"Might ask if he wants to travel around for a bit. Rough it out in the wilds. See places we ain't been to yet. Somethin' familiar but without all the blood n'bounty hunters n'cults n'crazy brothers. Get someone to come water the plants durin' the day. Can bring the cat along with us.

"Maybe it'll make me feel alright again, too."

"You still believe so much in punishment." It's spoken as an observation, albeit not without worry and pity.

Wolfwood as either iteration has always been so quick to give up all hope; saturnine and moribund, always inclined toward easy answers. But the easy way wasn't always the right way. "I hope that one day, you'll find it in yourself t'let go of it, one more time.

"'Cause the world isn't winner-takes-all, it's not a place where everyone's fixin' to be your enemy. You gotta hold on until you see that for yourself. So, please, Wolfwood… Please don't say you've thrown it all away." You aren't starting at zero.

Moments like these—these heart-to-hearts—are where the pacifist comes to appreciate just how much Rem's dream has helped him. 150 years of grief, sure, but it hasn't been without joy and connection, either. Even his worst moments don't erase that happiness he's felt, the people he's helped, or the person he's made of himself. Wolfwood isn't different.

The Plant's attention turns toward Wolfwood's heart again, its shadow seen through by half-lidded eyes behind orange lenses.

"And quit shutting him out.

"…I'm proud of you, for keepin' him safe in here. But you have t'keep connecting with him. He doesn't deserve to feel alone, either."

[punisheye]

One arm lifts so he can drag it across his face, to mop up his wet eyes before the tears can spill over. Wolfwood's never liked killing, he would have gotten no joy out of killing Knives by his own hand, and each life taken is just another stain on his heart and his conscience. He told his husband he had no right to take a life whenever he wanted.

Even if he was well-meaning. Even if he knows the person was wretched, dangerous. Because how can you tell in the future who really "deserves" it? It's not his job. Not anymore.

He'd rather have soil from the garden and ground espresso beans on his palms and under his nails than blood. He prefers the smell of coffee and a homemade meal over gun polish and copper and sand.

"Alright," he croaks. He really would be giving Knives everything he wants by letting his thoughts veer down this path. Would just continue to play right into his hands. That's how he got here in the first place.

It's hard, still. Things aren't completely peaceful at home yet, despite how much time it's been. It feels rocky, tumultuous, and distant. It makes the loneliness worse. It makes him wonder if they'll make it through at all. But he has to.

Wolfwood reaches over to the bag of candy and shoves his hand into it and drags out a peanut butter cup, slowly peeling the wrapper off.

"I can't give him what he wants," he says, voice quieter this time, mostly to himself. There could be hope for him yet. Forgiveness, even. Change isn't impossible. He just has to start all over again.

Vash picked out a caramel apple-flavored lollipop to taste in the meanwhile, allowing Wolfwood to gather himself enough to speak again.

…Though when he does continue, he just sounds worse. As he listens, the Plant shifts the way he sits, tilting to the side to hug his knees while sitting on the table bench. He pulls the lollipop out of his mouth, carrying the stick between his middle and ring finger to respond.

"Well, we can't take back what's been done; but, that counts for the sacrifices you've all made, just as much as it does for what you did to my brother. N'to yourself, and to all of us. It's not gone anywhere.

"So. Um. Here's—Here's what I think." A short sigh. Stamps scratches the back of his head with his free hand, before that arm returns to wrap around his knees.

"I know… My brother. And I know he wants you to feel like this. To see yourself this way, and t'make you believe love isn't gonna make its way back to you for what you've done.

"But that's the real lie, Wolfwood. 'No matter how dark it gets', right? You heard her as much as my brother and I have. ...Whatever happens, that blank ticket can't be thrown away.

"You can have it again, if you want it."

[punisheye]

The kindness feels undeserved. He wishes he could tell Vash to just get angry, please get angry, scold him and yell at him and tell him how badly he fucked up. But that's not coming. And he can't beg him for that because then the little shit will just do it out of a sense of obligation, just to make him feel better.

He still feels a little like a child, sad and frightened and small. He's stopped looking at Vash and instead is looking at his hands now in his lap. Tense, like he's still anticipating a scolding.

He doesn't say anything for some time, doesn't look up, doesn't reach for a piece of candy like he might have during any other conversation. Sharing food and eating together right now just feels... not right. It won't make him feel any better.

"I ruined it," he finally chokes out, voice on the edge of a sob. "What was the point? What's it even mean that I just went right back to bein' that guy again?"

Wolfwood hates himself for even speaking. He doesn't want to rope Stamps into his self-pity.

"Everything I did for him, everything he did for me—it all mattered. I changed, I know I did. Then I just went n'threw it all away."

"Ah." Vash's expression, unfiltered and in rapid succession: frustration—disappointment—pity—weary acceptance.

It doesn't strike him as fair for Wolfwood's husband to expend most of his lifespan, for Wolfwood to die and for Livio to live, just for the Punisher to be used in the way the Eye designed anyway.

So it's clearly not the answer that Vash had wanted to hear. But he makes no move to insist further, despite previously expressing a wish to be more assertive. He's careful to nod politely, to stifle the sentiment before it bled into anything else.

If Wolfwood wasn't yet ready to unburden himself with that cross, to let it be the tombstone of the life he used to live, then that was that.

Besides, it's hard not to relate so heavily to what Wolfwood must be feeling right now. Given… Everything.

But—not once had Vash ever wanted to take another life. Even his predecessor had confessed to living decades of murderous rage aimed at his own brother. Yet he'd changed. With that in mind, Stamps figures that Vash must be hurting terribly from this, perhaps worse than how either of these two feel right now.

Paradoxically, the sympathy helps in distancing himself from his own feelings. He'd rather keep others in mind anyway.

The wind returns, gentle and pleasantly refreshing. He reaches over to snag the empty taffy wrapper before it's blown away, crumpling it in his left palm.

"…It'll be alright," Vash assures, trying to elaborate on earlier. "I figure you probably feel awfully lonesome about all this. I'm not unaware about how cruel my brother can get. How he must've got to you.

"But Vash n'Nicholas love you a lot. 'M sure they'll come around."

[punisheye]

No, don't cry, fuck—

His own smile, equally as empty, falls, and Wolfwood sags forward again.

What a question; a difficult one to answer. The Punisher is a symbol for a lot of things: his pain, the abuse he suffered, his loss of childhood, the lives he's taken, his own gravemarker. Of course he would spend his days carrying the same thing he'd be buried under on his back. It was only fitting.

It was handed to him after he was taught to kill. Only a few in existence, he was told, and it should have been an honor to wield it. But he was only a boy, it had been so much bigger than he was then.

A lot of people died while staring up the barrel of it.

But it's a part of his life he doesn't think he could just... give up, just like that.

"It's..." Wolfwood hesitates, uncertain of if he should say it. "It's part of me, y'know. Always will be. I can't let it get into the wrong hands."

He can hear it—he can see it—in Wolfwood's voice and face: the same thoughts and feelings Vash himself had felt at the end of that night in Julai. The weight of failing everyone terribly, of breaking the vow he'd sworn to keep for decades and decades.

Everything comes back to him too quickly. It's impossible not to let it all catch him. Tears spill before the pacifist can help himself, realizing only belatedly, from the feeling of them rolling down his face.

He was doing so well, too.

Quickly, the Plant covers his face with both hands, drawing back from the table and breathing deep to center himself. When he pulls his hands back into his lap, they're clenched. He sounds grave.

"Wolfwood. Something has to change."

Looking at the priest's smile only makes him more upset (go figure), but Vash does his best to keep looking him in the eye, determined.

"If I asked you to give up the Punisher, would you do it?"

[punisheye]

"None of it's yer fault," he rasps, his head finally snapping up so he can look Vash in the eye, finally, for the first time in this conversation. His own expression is devastated, agonized. "It's mine. It's all mine. I'm not- not a kid that needs my hand held through it. I made a choice. I fucked up. I let you down, n'Vash, everyone. Livio, too, n'he's not... even..." Here.

He doesn't want Vash taking any blame, he doesn't want to hear any empty 'it's alright's when it isn't, it never will be. Nothing he can do will make up for it, he thinks. No apologies will be enough.

"I have t'deal with the consequences. That's how it is."

Wolfwood's hand moves to rest over his heart, pounding hard in his chest. Underneath all that guilt, self-loathing, and fear he feels suffocating shame. It makes his heart ache even fiercer. The shadow there, kept safe and warm, is smug.

He gives Stamps a wobbly, weak smile.

"It aches real bad, I can't lie. I'm not too good takin' care of this old thing. Doctor told me ta lay off the smokes, y'know."

He sniffs.

"I let him turn me back into somethin' I swore I wouldn't be again. That's a regret I'm gonna keep with me forever."

There's a part of him that wants to cut in and say: I know, to all of it. He's shared that stuttering heart, lived the moments up until it gave out. But Vash recognizes that he's been overestimating how Wolfwood truly is, if his heart had led him to do this horrible thing despite everything.

He knows now, that Wolfwood had asked around for Knives' whereabouts. The man had not been held by knifepoint or gunpoint to do what he had done, he hadn't been coerced to come to some secluded canyon wedge over the phone, amnesiac and desperate—there was enough time to stop, and enough people to tell him to stop.

The Plant's prosthetic fingers tap against his face once, twice. Then Vash sighs, brows drawn.

"…Just tryin' to understand. Hate t'see you like this, Wolfwood."

It isn't the first time he's had a Wolfwood kill someone for his sake. But his younger counterpart didn't have the grace of all this time and all this distance to evade the worst of Vash's outrage.

"It's alright," he lies to the both of them, unable to let Wolfwood suffer the blame alone. "Really, I figure in some ways, I've failed you. Think I coulda tried harder, maybe. To reach you. And who you're keepin' in there." Eyes target Wolfwood's heart, only to be paired with another empty smile.

"I was happy when you told me, back then. Thinkin' it meant you'd keep him safe, that you'd take good care of your heart. It must ache something fierce now, huh?"

[punisheye]

"Would it be better if it was?" His voice sounds so small to his own ears. Really, it'd be better if Stamps did scold him instead of putting on his usual cheery façade. It doesn't matter if it was easy or not. What's done is done. He can't take it back. He can't fix it.

Wolfwood shakes his head.

"I knew I shouldn't a' gone before he even did it," he continues. "Standin' there in front of him. I thought he might kill me first. Then he didn't."

He'd had targets kill themselves in front of him before, but it was to avoid a brutal, humiliating death at his hands. Knives had been almost serene about it. Accepting. He keeps seeing that headless body when he tries to sleep.

Knives seemed almost happy to do it.

"I jus' played right into his hands. I was angry n'scared. I'm sorry. For all of it."

The answer makes the Plant chuckle softly again, an echo from earlier; a mask he's quick to don again in favor over the bitterness. Vash can pretend as though they're talking how they used to talk, a sunbeam lighthearted attitude to help melt away a cynic's grousing.

He rests his chin in his left palm, propped up on the table. Jeez, Wolfwood looks awful. Crumpled and tense and all wound tight.

"Then was it easy, at least?" He could understand that, if it was. Vash assures: "I'm not gonna scold you, Wolfwood. I'm no better, y'know? I killed him, too."

He'd already told him that, before; it's just a reminder. They'd shared memories of being his brother, and memories of refusing to kill his brother, of having the will to die for the mercy that you believe in. There wasn't any point in reminding Wolfwood of that, either.

Stamps and Nicholas and Vash... They all knew how it was to lose their brother. To feel personally responsible for it, no matter what had really happened before their eyes. But in the end, Wolfwood had failed to understand. Nothing had been enough.

[punisheye]

"It wasn't."

What else is he supposed to even say? He wishes he could scream. This is his fault, he knows it's his fault, and the self-loathing and guilt feels crushing. That horrible thought of wondering if he should've stayed dead, if then things would be different. Then these people wouldn't be hurting like this. Stupid self-pity. He hates himself for it.

The next inhale he takes is a wet one. His fingers curl so his nails bite into his palm instead of wood. Wolfwood still won't look at him.

It's such a nice day and he feels cold. The chill creeps in from the inside, spreading through his ribcage, wrapping itself around his heart.

"It wasn't. It ain't ever gonna be."

Vash turns his attention back to Wolfwood when he begins to speak again, listening carefully as he chews. This time, he continues to look at him even after the murderer's trailed off and begun to sink into himself.

How excluded you must feel, his twin's voice had whispered into Vash's ear before.

All your trust and mercy, betrayed in an instant. You see? It is in their nature.

The pity had felt scalding. These uncomfortable judgments, given a voice by his twice-murdered brother, by the shadow of someone he thought he knew: they resort to violence when it suits them. They hide from you, they lie to you…

But they can’t escape being what they are.

"Gotta say... Didn't think I'd be feelin' this calm." the Typhoon says, quiet and bitter and slow. All of that false warmth has fled from him in an instant. He swallows; his mouth tastes sweet.

"You went against everything you died for. Must've been worth it."

[punisheye]

The continued silence is unbearable, to put it simply. He doesn't know if Stamps has anything he wants to say and just isn't saying it, if he's waiting for Wolfwood to crack first.

It'd be a little mean of him, sure, but nothing compared to the cruelty of Wolfwood killing his brother—whether he struck that killing blow or not.

He's disappointed a lot of people. He doesn't think he'll be able to live it down, ever. It's a failure that's going to linger for a long time. Maybe forever. Not like he's not used to failing people, anyway.

Wolfwood takes a shaky breath. Finally, he does crack and break the silence:

"Vash knows," he says. "Nicholas knows. They were both pissed. Are pissed. I shoulda told ya before anyone. But I—..."

He trails off. No, he's not going to make any excuses. Instead he just lowers his head and huddles his shoulders in and forward, almost like he's trying to make his large frame look smaller. What an impossible task.

See? Shy!, he might have teased now, if things didn't turn out the way that they did. Vash watches Wolfwood a little more, before uncrinkling a piece of taffy to chew on.

Going through the motions of eating it helps, even if he can't really bring himself to care about the taste.

The Plant's eyes wander off to observe the rest of the world, the liveliness of the park, despite the localized quiet.

The breeze is absent. If it weren't a nice day, he might as well be back at the twilit outskirts of that village again, hands itching something fierce to bunch up that suit's lapels. Everyone dies and the world just keeps on turning.

[punisheye]

Somehow the silence is worse than being yelled at.

His husband's yelled at him, the undertaker's yelled at him, he wishes this guy would yell, too, because he thinks he could handle that better.

He feels nauseated. His hand uncurls and his nails dig into the old wood of the table. That smile, that damn smile, feels like a punch to the gut or a knife to the heart or maybe both at once.

In that moment he thinks he regrets telling him even though he knows he should have.

Wolfwood's jaw is tense, his eyes turned down. There isn't anything else left for him to say, so he says nothing.

Despite all the practice, a look of genuine surprise flashes on Vash's face, as though seeing something totally unexpected in the sweets before him. Then he puts effort into relaxing his expression, continuing his slow efforts to sort out candy.

...It's only a handful, so before long he's just tossing a piece into one pile and then back again. Ostensibly, he's trying to process hearing the news.

He chuckles when he finally turns to look at his brother's murderer, a lighthearted sound—what a funny look on Wolfwood's face—and says absolutely nothing.

Instead, Vash simply remains silent, and gives the other man a warm, empty smile.

[punisheye]

"No way," he grumbles, but there isn't much bite to it. Mostly he seems rather reserved, almost hesitant, carefully considering his next words. He doesn't know how this is going to go. His husband blew up on him (rightfully so, really) and it wasn't even technically his brother that died.

But Stamps—well, it was his brother; his brother that he still wants to save, despite everything.

He watches his friend sort the candy for a moment, brows twitching. Wolfwood's hand curls atop the table, his other resting in his lap. Right now he wishes he could smoke, but his pack's at home and his doctor's telling him to cut down on it.

"I let everyone down," he finally says. "I tracked down yer brother and he killed himself in front of me."

A beat of silence, Wolfwood swallowing, and then:

"...I'm sorry."

There were still consequences to undergo, months after Vash's bounty posters had reappeared.

Some friends in the main town of Umber were all the more enthusiastic to hear him out—while some were outraged in learning of Vash being the mass-murdering force of nature that had taken away their loved ones in Archimedes—and others, still, appeared to turn entirely fearful at the sight of him.

Repairing his reputation and the trust placed in him would take time.

"Nah! I mean, I'd rather be here." As nonchalant as his answer, the Plant takes to rummaging a hand around in the bag as soon as he's seated.

With the help of a napkin spread out on the face of the table, he begins to sort out this first fistful of candy. Appetite doesn't have much to do with it; he's just thinking of happier times together.

"So, what's on your mind?" And then, with a soft snort, "Y'know, you can get pretty shy sometimes, Wolfwood."