Chapter Text
Wolfwood turns to him the moment Miss Shortstack and the old man have disappeared down the hall.
"That explains a lot."
Vash blinks up at him, his eyes innocently confused and orange-tinted behind his glasses. Wolfwood can almost hear the little eh? he hasn't quite made.
"...What does?" Vash says instead, and then twitches all up his left side when Brad jabs at the internals of his arm. The other man slaps a restraining hand down on Vash's opposite knee without breaking stride in his work - the same way a mother cat might bat a misbehaving kitten, Wolfwood thinks with offhand amusement at the comparison - and goes on tinkering.
"Hundred and fifty years? You're senile by now. Explains why you're so damn stupid about things."
A huff of strangled amusement comes up from Brad, who's keeping an ear out to their bantering despite being seemingly engrossed in Vash's arm. Sharp man, that. And on the lookout for Vash, which Wolfwood finds a certain type of interesting.
The entire situation is all types of interesting, from the derelict spacecraft hiding just miles away from Wolfwood's erstwhile hometown, to the fact that Vash had apparently been holding out a home from them this entire time. Stupid indeed. If one didn't know Vash as well as Wolfwood could dubiously say he now does.
For a moment Vash looks as indignant that cuffed kitten before he blinks it away and let his mouth slide into an easy grin, one of the ones that reach his eyes more than most. "You're just jealous of my youthful looks, huh, Wolfwood?" He tips his head up for direct eye contact as he speaks, and Wolfwood sees something like mischief behind those ridiculous glasses.
He has to grin back at that, just a little. And mostly because teasing is good look on Vash. "In your dreams, Blondie."
"Blondie, huh?" Brad has paused his work and is wrestling a tool off his uniform's belt as he regards the prosthetic arm with a critical eye. "That's a new one."
"..And what do you guys call him?" Wolfwood says without missing a beat, and only realizes that he's genuinely curious to know seconds after the words leave his mouth.
Brad shrugs, finally freeing the tool. "Well, kid, when he was younger. Nowadays? It's how the hell did you break that?" He punctuates his last sentence by a tap on what looks to be the arm's artificial radius bone, the owner of which immediately takes on an overly mournful look. Kicked puppy springs to mind.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I said I was sorry...it won't happen again."
"Yeah, yeah. Like I haven't heard that one before. Yeah."
Wolfwood finds himself grinning again. Neither of them sound at all sincere, and hell, teasing really is a good look on Vash. Or something. Playfulness, that's what it is. Their bickering fades off, broken by the clink of metal on metal and Vash's little exclamations whenever he's poked enough to feel it, and Wolfwood zones off to it.
He's brought back by the sound of them talking, lower, hushed, trying not to be noticed, maybe. So he starts listening and looking, and trying to seem like he isn't doing either.
"-how long are you staying?
"I don't know...I don't think I can stay long, Brad, I-"
"Luida and I were hoping you might stay more this time, the k-"
Vash breaks in immediately, despite not being the type to interrupt people. "...Are they giving you trouble? I told them last time to behave themselves."
Wolfwood perks up at the mention of them. Who could that be? Townsfolk from Hopeland? Thug gangs? The Bad Lads Gang did their beat around this area, and given recent events - given recent events, it may be the Eye of Michael they're talking about. Legato. Wolfwood bristles at the thought of them anywhere near the orphanage, the reminder of everything that has happened in the last twenty-four hours. He forces himself to keep paying attention.
"No, no," Brad is saying. He's giving Vash a meaningful look that's puzzling to Wolfwood, it isn't the look of someone concerned, it's...imploring. "We just think it'd be good for them to see you around more."
In turn Vash looks almost hurt at that. "...I come as much as I can. I want to come more, you know I do, I just...I can't risk bringing any real trouble here...and you and Luida do good with them-"
Brad cuts him off. "There's no pressure, kid, I'm just sayin' it'd be nice to have you around more."
Vash nods but doesn't respond to that, and they fall silent again while Wolfwood pokes over their conversation and can't seem to make heads or tails of it. But something is going on, that's for sure. Not that it's any of his business.
-
Brad pats Vash's knee and sits back on his haunches, grumbling something about old bones. Vash leans forward in concern but gets waved off. "Run along and play." Brad tells him. "Luida's probably still in the garden, get everyone together for dinner if you want."
Vash looks over at Wolfwood, who eyes him back dubiously. "Hungry, Wolfwood?"
Wolfwood shrugs noncommittally. He is, actually. Fuckin' ravenous. "A little bit," he says, and reaches into his jacket. The mention of food reminds him that he wants-needs a smoke more than sustenance though, and-
-and, "...the fuck you looking like that for, Needle-noggin'?" Because Vash has suddenly got a look in his eyes that can be best described as unholy glee.
"You can't smoke in the ship." Vash says.
Wolfwood opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again to ask if he heard right.
"Sorry, it's the rules." Vash chirps before Wolfwood can. He's enjoying himself, the bastard. "And I'll enforce them if necessary."
Oh, really now?
He's about to ask Vash just what makes him think he'd be able to make good on that threat when a muffled bang sounds from somewhere far outside the room, but near enough to make all three of them startle. It's followed by a clatter and crash of what sounds like something - some things are more like it - heavy hitting a floor, and then it's quiet for a second before noise starts up again. But now it's completely different, it's the sound of footsteps and high indistinct voices mixed together growing closer and closer by the second. Wolfwood starts to reach for the punisher, tugging at cloth and straps as he pulls it around him into a defensive stance; Vash sees him and inexplicably, raw distress fills his face.
It's a look that makes Wolfwood stop short, and gives Brad enough time to get on his feet, an alarmed expression on his face as he hurries towards the door. "Hey!" he starts, poking his head out the door and shouting down the hall at something unseen, "Don't you come in her-"
Wolfwood barely has time to jump back out of the way as two human-shaped blurs shoot past through the doorway, evading Brad - who spins around to reach for them - and launch themselves at a rising Vash. One collides with him with such an audible smack of flesh and bone it has Wolfwood wincing - because ow, fuck, those were Vash's ribs being used as a sounding board - and throws its arms around Vash's waist while the other leaps up to fling itself bodily against Vash, sending him tumbling flat back onto his bed.
Wolfwood stares in something like utter surprise as the children - they can't be anything but children, going from the general shape and size - swarm Vash, nearly burying him between them and the rapidly rumpling bedcovers.
None of it seems a surprise to Brad, who recovers his bearings and comes in swinging. "Oi, boys! Give him some air!" he snaps, throwing a hand into the fray to pluck at the back of one of the boys, who squirms away, giggling, worming his way against Vash's side out of reach.
"No, no, it's fine, Brad." Vash says, laughing as he pushes himself up on an elbow, reaching his flesh hand out to run it with unmistakable affection through the haphazard hair of his closest attacker. It's mottled mix of dark gold and black, spiking up through Vash's fingers.
Brad isn't mollified, he stands shaking his head, radiating disapproval. "I told them not to come down here without permission."
But that's all he gets out before the boy who's hair Vash is stroking slides from under Vash's hand and jumps off the bed, landing soundlessly. On ground level, Wolfwood estimates he might just clear four feet, and he's topped by a pair of shocking blue eyes. Combined with that head of unruly spiky-tufted hair, he looks like nothing other than a miniature-
Wait.
"You didn't tell me dad was back home," the boy says accusingly, fixing Brad with a look that's unsettlingly piercing for a child.
Dad?
Brad doesn't seem fazed. "Yeah? Because I didn't want you bothering him while he was resting."
"He was hurt. What if he died and we didn't get to say goodbye?"
What the fuck?
"He's not dead," a shrill voice pipes up, it's the boy still on the bed with Vash. The first boy's eyes flash at the challenge.
"He could have died."
"He's not dead, stupid." the other insists.
"Yeah, but-"
"Hey." Brad locks eyes with the first boy, crossing his arms over his chest in the universal gesture of authority. "Your dad is fine, he was just tired. Nowhere close to being dead, eh, Vash?"
Vash looks over at them both, sliding his metal hand over the shoulders of the boy next to him, tucking him in against his side and resting his chin on the boy's head. Wolfwood notes this one's hair is combed back into a rough semblance of order, but still the same mismatched colors as the other.
"Yeah." Vash agrees softly, looking uncomfortable. "Brad's right, I just needed some rest. Don't...don't talk about dying, hm?"
This seems to sufficiently chastise the boy, who mumbles an okay, dad, as he backs up and hops back onto the bed, where he's promptly dragged into a one-armed embrace by Vash.
"Still should have told us," he adds defiantly to Brad after a moment.
Wolfwood bites his tongue to keep a bark of laughter from escaping. Just who the hell are these little brats? And why are they calling Vash dad? They can't actually be...
...well, fuck him sideways, are they?
"Gonna give me an introduction, needle-noggin'?"
Three pairs of blue eyes fix on him, two curious, one unreadable. Brad's eyes snap to him too, and something crosses his face then that Wolfwood doesn't particularly like.
"Vash," Brad starts, and the worry in his voice is unmistakable. But Vash keeps his eyes on Wolfwood, they're strangely intense as he looks at him. And looks. And seems to reach some sort of decision.
"It's alright," he says firmly, holding Wolfwood's gaze. From the corners of his eyes, Wolfwood sees Vash's arms tighten around the two little bodies they're wrapped around. "He's safe, Brad." Then, like it's supposed to mean something, "I trust him."
And who is he to decide that, Wolfwood thinks, suddenly irked. Wolfwood is no more safe than Vash is capable of taking a life. And whatever Vash thinks he's trusting Wolfwood with is only going to come back to bite him hard in the ass later.
This is bad, Wolfwood knows with cold clarity, feeling the eyes on him like they're something tangible needling into him. Really fucking bad.
"Who's he?" One of the boys says.
"Kids, I think you should go." Brad says, making a chivvying motion towards the doorway as Vash opens his mouth to protest. "Now."
"-Dad?"
Another gold-black head pokes around the doorframe right then, blue eyes darting around the room beyond. The new kid is a dead ringer for the other two, making Wolfwood do a discreet double take. No, he's seeing right, there's three of them now.
The boy is staring openly at Wolfwood, but tears his eyes away away before any of the adults in the room can pin him for it and addresses Brad with wide-eyed childish earnestness. "Rome and Remy dropped a supply crate in the hall."
"Traitor!" one of the other boys shrieks, it's unclear if he's Rome or Remy. "It was already dropped, we just bumped into it!"
"Uh-huh," says the newcomer in the doorway.
"Uh-huh!" mocks either Rome or Remy. "Don't be a goddamn tattle, Kni!"
"Boys." Vash says sharply, then sighs, grabbing a hand of each and pulling them off the bed with him. "Knight," he addresses the boy in the doorway, and Knight - something about the name nags at Wolfwood for no particular reason - hesitates and then steps into the room, padding over to Vash but slowing as he passes Wolfwood.
Wolfwood finds himself easing in front of the punisher, because kids are inclined to be touchy-feely little bastards, but the kid marches obediently on to Vash, who gives him a bright and wholly unfamiliar smile.
"Hey, sweetheart."
Knight gives him an apprehensive one-over, as if he's looking for something horrible on Vash's body. Or expecting it, maybe. "...You're okay, dad?"
"Yes, Kni. Here, there's someone I want you all to meet."
Vash still has a hand of each boy when he turns to Wolfwood, and it's only then with them all side by side that the resemblance between the four becomes uncannily clear. Hair, eyes, skin, and now that Wolfwood looks closer, a smattering of marks across their features, two to each, placed similarly to the one Vash has under his left eye.
They're skinny, the way all kids are at a certain age, the roundness of their faces and eyes in contrast with their lanky limbs makes them look almost delicate in a way, but there's no mistaking that somehow, someway, these kids are Vash's.
"Wolfwood, this is Remus, Romulus, and Knight." Vash says, indicating each with a nod of his head as he names them. "Boys, this-" he pauses, taking a breath before what seems to be some final plunge, and then goes on, "-is Wolfwood. He's a friend of mine."
Wolfwood crouches on instinct, punisher forgotten by the wall as he studies them. They look the same, but apart from what seems to be the ship's standard grey jumpsuits they aren't all dressed the same, small blessings.
The one with the wild hair and yellow sleeveless shirt that seems to be doubling as a hand-painted mural is Remus, the one with brushed back hair and who's deep red shirt is emblazoned with the SEEDS insignia is Romulus, and the one who has alternating wisps of gold-black hair falling into his eyes and dressed in what appears to be a tiny version of the ship's uniform is Knight.
"Nicholas D. Wolfwood." Wolfwood says as soon as he's filed all this away for future reference, and pretends to tip an imaginary hat with exaggerated swagger. "Your dad never told me about you."
He's regarded with silent distrust across the board, but no small amount of curiosity either. Wolfwood finds that's an interesting expression coming from faces that are essentially scaled-down versions of Vash's.
"Are you really dad's friend?" Remus finally says.
Wolfwood makes the mistake of glancing above to Vash for support and catches him chewing on his lip, looking thoroughly nervous. It's a sight that stops Wolfwood up for long enough for it to be personally embarrassing, before he claws his focus back into the present. Of all the fuckin' times to do shit like that, spikey, fuck-
He's talking before he can stop himself. "You tell me."
"Dad doesn't have friends." Romulus informs Wolfwood solemnly from around Vash's other side, as if it's a given truth.
"He has friends now. Don't be rude." Brad interjects gruffly. He's clearly still very much on edge, and Wolfwood isn't missing the way he's put himself close - if not almost inbetween Wolfwood and Vash and the kids. Brad gets twin dark looks for that from Romulus and Remus, but Knight seems to have something else on his mind.
"What's that?" he asks, brow furrowed as he points across to the punisher. He's as cute as tomas chick. It's a question that must have been burning on his mind since he saw it, Wolfwood knows the indications of unfulfilled youthful curiosity.
"Don't point-" Vash says, right at the same time Wolfwood says-
"-It's just a cross." This produces three differing reactions, to Wolfwood's amusement.
"A-cross? Across from where?"
"What does it do?"
"Cross? Are you a priest?" The last one is Knight again, who's staring at the punisher with renewed interest. Wolfwood makes a note to find somewhere secure to stash the thing if he can, because ankle-biters and machine guns do not a good mixture make. Vash's distress when Wolfwood had reached for the punisher earlier makes complete sense now.
He thought I might hurt the kids. The sudden flash of sickness that follows that thought has nothing to do with his empty stomach, and the gnawing need for a smoke increases tenfold.
"Uncle Brad says priests are a bunch of self-righteous jackasses." That's Remus now.
"Don't swear. And Uncle Brad doesn't see the point in organized religion." Uncle Brad says, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Shouldn't you kids be off studying? Or something?"
"He's an Athenian." Remus goes on as if Brad hasn't spoken.
"Atheist," corrects one of his brothers - the red-shirted one, Romulus. "See, you should be studying, Remy."
Remus flips him off.
This time Wolfwood does laugh, he can't help it. What a brace of kids Vash has here, even if it's insane to even think of someone like Vash having kids at all. Vash, who doesn't look a day over twenty-five if not twenty, who's favorite food is goddamed doughnuts and who gets Wolfwood's jaw grinding every he's subjected to Vash's unique brand of naivety. Kids. No one had ever mentioned kids to Wolfwood. Had they thought it'd spook him off the mission? Compromise him? That'd it might be the possibility of a deal-breaker for him, enough to be kept from him?
Or, comes the more insidious thought, making him stop laughing as a cold thrill shoots down his spine, are the kids part of his mission too?
"Undertaker," he says before his face can give anything away. "I'm an undertaker. Don't forget it."
The boys take a moment to confer, leaning around Vash to put their mottled heads together and talk in whispers everyone can still very much hear.
"...Undertaker?"
"-that's different than a priest, Remy."
"Nu-huh, don't priests do the same thing too?"
"Funerals, dummy!"
"-yeah, undertakers mess around with dead bodies, Kni."
"Fuckin' gross-"
"Don't swear." Brad tells the room at large, sounding defeated. Wolfwood catches Vash's eye as he pushes to his feet and Vash grins, it's startling how his eyes light up with it, how they glow with a humor that can only be real.
"I don't think I've ever caught you messing 'round with dead bodies, Wolfwood." Vash deadpans. Wolfwood blinks and blinks some more. Blinks again for good measure.
Playfulness, yeah. Why not?
"Blondie, I swear I'll beat your ass."
He's immediately the focus of three incredulous gazes.
"Hurt dad and I'll kill you." Remus shakes his hand out of Vash's and takes a step forward to show that he means it, Wolfwood finds himself strangely impressed at the lack of hesitation from the little imp. He looks entirely ready to haul off too.
"Remus!" It's the first hint of disapproving emotion Wolfwood has heard Vash direct towards any of the kids. Figures. Vash reaches for him, but Remus stands there, his eyes boring into Wolfwood's expectantly. Wolfwood smothers the sudden urge to pinch his cheeks.
"You'll have to get a ladder, shortcake," he says, just to see the kid bristle. And then to reassure him; "Don't worry, I'm just messing around, your dad knows I don't mean anything by it."
"Remus, apologize." Vash insists, tugging on his shoulder. Of course he would be more upset by the use of the word kill in a sentence than the cursing, disrespect for privacy, and total lack of respect for authority his supposed children are freely slinging around. "You can't say things like that-"
"Lay off, spikey. I'm a stranger, yeah?"
Vash looks up sharply at him, something in his face makes Wolfwood sure he's about to start arguing, but it passes after a second and Vash reaches up to adjust his glasses with his wrist, sighing a little behind it. About ten seconds too late Wolfwood realizes he may have unwittingly infringed on some of Vash's parenting.
Uh-huh.
Vash has pulled Remus back despite him and is engaged in a hushed back-and-forth with him, which gives Wolfwood time to feel sufficiently awkward and then get over it before the next metaphorical bomb comes barreling down the hall.
-
Meryl's distinct and excited chattering is unmistakable, it stops Vash up short in the middle of whatever lecture he's giving, and Wolfwood braces himself.
"Vash!" Meryl calls as she breezes into the room, "You'll never guess what happened-" she stops short at the sight of the six of them, her eyes going wide. "...Hell-o..." she says after a very long pause. "...Did I miss something?"
Behind her, Roberto's eyes dart between everyone in the room. Luida, who's coming up past him looks unaccountably shaken, but Roberto still zeroes in on her. "Yours?" he hazards with a toss of his head that encompasses the boys, Brad, and her. He sounds like he's hoping desperately for a yes, but Wolfwood knows that he knows better. Roberto's face when he had walked in and saw Vash and the kids all standing together had said as much.
You won't get so lucky, old man. But Wolfwood can admire the commitment to performative denial. He's a master himself.
Luida looks taken aback and shoots a look at her counterpart, who's already shaking his head in turn. "No." Brad says flatly. Wolfwood allows himself to briefly consider it, for fun if nothing else; they make a complimentary couple, although Luidia's lined face speaks to more age than Brad's. He wonders if their shifts in cryo-sleep aren't exactly equal. He's wondering a lot of things right now.
Brad turns an uneasy look in Vash's direction, clearly ready to lie, but Vash speaks up first.
"...They're mine."
Art of the kids is here, on my Tumblr.