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Vash has been stuck like this for the past few hours. A few being 5, or 7, or 10. He hasn't actually been keeping track of the time, just how long it feels- how tired he’s become.
So tired, and yet he can't sleep a wink.
He's curled up on the bed of the inn he and Wolfwood are staying at for the night, eyes fixed on the window that frames the night sky. It's cold, unbearably so, a chill that seeps through the dilapidated walls of the building and the thin sheet wrapped around him. Wolfwood's been gone for some time, having invited Vash out for a drink but opting to take on the journey by himself when Vash dismissed the idea, assembling the excuse that he was too worn out from the hike to their destination prior.
It wasn't entirely untrue. He was exhausted, that was sort of the entire dilemma he was facing right now- but even moreso he felt hollow.
The world had been feeling severely too kind to him recently. Everything felt so much more finite when it wasn't fleeting and cruel, and Vash's first instinct was always to shove those feelings aside- they frequently got in the way of his logic: to put others before himself and not let them affect him too much in return. Single serving friends for his single serving lifestyle.
But certain things- new things, new people- had been making his efforts feel trivial recently.
It wasn't as easy to just pick up and go these days, not when he had things to care about. Fragile things, finite people, who stuck around for longer than he was used to- and the scariest part of all of this was how comfortable he'd gotten. This way of living, this indulgence in tangible things, important bonds- the delicacy of it all horrified him. He felt too close, too attached, and he'd been alive long enough to know that devastation was always inevitable. The horror of this reality being ripped away from him was beginning to consume him. It was so much easier to appreciate humanity from afar, something for him to serve his purpose as a savior- but nowadays he felt like he actually lived amongst it, vulnerable to its fragilities while being unable to recover from them.
Those fears led to these moments, where he remained so fixated on numbing every instinct of his that may have felt just a hair too human that he couldn't even will his body to sleep. Every hitch of breath and neuron, trained at the epicenter of avoiding turning into the only thing he's ever wanted to be.
The door to the room creaks open almost shyly, casting a sliver of warm light against the bed. The sound is extremely faint, but still startles Vash out of the cavern of his mind enough for him to jump where he's laying, whipping his head to face the sound.
Wolfwood is standing in the doorframe, obscured by the light of the hallway in a way that makes him look like a holy picture, his body framed in a halo by the luminance. He's got one hand tossed over his shoulder holding his cross like usual while the other is wrapped around something that Vash can't quite make out yet.
“Spikey? You in there?” The timber of Wolfwood's voice rings out, and Vash guts himself for how relieving it is to hear. He stares back at the priest from his cocoon, sitting upwards now and peering out from the blanket like a curious animal.
“Hello!” He makes an attempt at sounding cheery, but his fatigue precedes him and stifles any chance of success he would've had at composure.
Wolfwood steps in, angling his cross to fit through the doorway awkwardly and lugging the other object carefully behind.
“Still awake? Thought you needed some rest-” The priest mutters, resting the cross against the wall beside the bed before continuing to approach Vash. He hadn't taken his eyes off of the blonde for a moment.
It was then that Vash finally made sense of what Wolfwood was holding- an acoustic guitar.
Well, truthfully, knowing Wolfwood, that realization actually made even less sense.
Vash quirks his lips up in a grin, eyeing Wolfwood as he sits down on the other side of the bed.
“Did you abandon me to finally achieve your dreams of becoming a travelling bard?”
Wolfwood chuckles and shoves Vash by his shoulder playfully- the blonde rocks with the movement, breaking out into giggles of his own.
“You wish.”
I do. It would make this so much easier to move on from.
“I didn't know you played guitar.” Vash opts to say instead, his hand fiddling with the edge of the sheet wrapped around him while he peers to look at the instrument where Wolfwood has leaned it against the bed.
The priest turns to regard the guitar for a moment as well, shrugging lightly with the motion.
“It was something I picked up as a teen back at the orphanage, but I haven't quite had the chance to keep up with the hobby ever since.”
He swivels back to softly stare at the blonde again, an expression that's far too kind for Vash to accept.
“Came across this number at a resale shop- stuffs’ been slow lately, I figured now might be a good time to focus on honing a craft other than drinking.” Wolfwood muses, a pleased grin painting his face in a way that’s far too earnest. Too human.
Vash swallows hard, hoping the motion is enough to suffocate every instinct deep within him that aches to revel in the simple joys of a happy Wolfwood. He knows it'll be too much, bite his ass when things go south.
His silence must be jarring, because Wolfwood's face drops slightly into a knowing look. His eyes search Vash with too much concern.
“Y’alright? Look wiped out, I'm worried about ya, Needle.” Wolfwood prods softly, leaning back against the bedframe to get more comfortable.
Vash shoves a feigned grin center stage on his face but almost instantly regrets it- it's a trick that notably hasn't worked on the priest ever before and is sure to stir him up even more now.
“Hah, I'm just having a hard time falling asleep is all.” Vash scratches at his shoulder sheepishly, squints his eyes, lifts his chin- anything to cast Wolfwood’s apprehensions aside and onto a more deserving subject.
Wolfwood stares at him for a moment, his eyebrows furrowed before he glances to the side in thought. He hums decisively after a moment, seeming to conjure a solution.
“I’ve got a good idea-” He muses, and he doesn't give Vash much of an option to hear him out before he's yanking the blonde by his shoulder into Wolfwood’s lap. Vash falls into place with a flump, his head throttled slightly by the movement.
“Hey-” he barks huffily, rustling where Wolfwood has him pinned in place. The gesture was soothing by no means and wasn't really helping with his problem at all.
“Relax.” Wolfwood fusses, stilling Vash finally with a brief stroke over the crown of his head. It's a sensation that sends a small shiver down the blonde’s spine, provoking a blush to crawl across his cheeks. Vash is grateful that it's hidden by the dim lighting, but he practically gives himself away when he peers curiously up at Wolfwood from where he's been placed.
The priest smiles, satisfied with the efficiency of his method thus far.
“How about a little music? You always conk out on the back of Angelina when I've got the radio on.” He offers, jabbing a thumb towards the instrument.
Vash is not keen on admitting that knowing Wolfwood has noticed something as small as that brings his stomach to a stir. He also doesn’t want to admit how comfortable Wolfwood's thighs are, or how soothing his voice sounds when it's all quiet like this, or how satiating the way he smells is.
Vash scrubs furiously at the pampered ache in his heart. It does him no good to be this defenseless for someone.
“A show? For little ol’ me?” He coos, grinning smugly up at Wolfwood from where he rests on his lap.
Wolfwood smiles down at him, like he's something worth smiling at, his eyes soft and transfixed. He hums absentmindedly to himself, a low and sated sound.
“Hm, I know a good tune for ya’. Should help knock you out no problem.” He mumbles, moving to pull the guitar up from where it's leaning against the bedframe and into the small space left on his lap.
Vash stirs, sitting upwards.
“Do you need me to-”
Wolfwood plants a hand on his temple and pushes his head back down firmly, settling him back on his thighs and startling an oof out of the blonde.
“No, stay put.” The priest assures him, angling his arms around the guitar to fit both it and Vash into the small space. A desperate little thing deep inside of Vash sings at the gesture, and he bites away a shy smile.
There's an awkward beat between them as Wolfwood struggles to tune the dated instrument, it's age clearly showing now that Vash is close enough to get a good look at it. At one point, this thing must've been high quality- it has some silver detailing that winds along the frets and bridge in a regal theming, the sparse metal glittering in the moonlight of the room- but the wood of the body is notably warped and stained and the strings look worn down to threads. Wolfwood sighs after a moment of fussing with the tuning pegs, a good-as-it-gets sound that's followed by his hands resting back on the fingerboard and body of the guitar.
“Err… itsuh’… it's been a minute so, if I fuck anythin’ up, don't go poking fun, Needle.” Wolfwood sheepishly mumbles, the fingers of his left hand dancing along the fingerboard in search of a starting point. He looks timid, nervous- it's a sight that always catches Vash by surprise but endears him all the same.
Vash hums and bats his prosthetic hand dismissively in the air, his flesh one resting gently on one of Wolfwood's thighs. He rubs a thumb gently, indulgently across the clothed meat of his leg and feels Wolfwood shiver- his mind dances between whether the response was triggered by something pleasant, or that same innate disgust for his nature that Vash has always felt from human beings. An instinct to jerk away, self-preservation from a foreign thing.
It's not a thought he'd like to have right now- even if this isn't real somehow, he’d like to at least relish in the fantasy of Wolfwood. That could always get him by, keep his fragile needs satiated and warm, just enough to suffice.
"Can't remember how it starts…” he’s heaved from drowning in his own thoughts again by Wolfwood’s voice above him, just like always. The priest sighs, plucking the cigarette from his lips and putting it out in the bedframe before discarding it. Vash’s eyes glue themselves to Wolfwood’s face for stability- maybe if he never looks away, none of this will ever have to end.
“Oh, and it's in Spanish, hope ya don't mind.”
Before Vash can even process that Wolfwood singing is involved, the priest takes a deep breath- shaky, unlike him- and begins.
"…Me encontré angelito,
Que bajó del Cielo azul.
Yo perdí un angelito,
Corazón, llegaste tú.”
Vash blinks up at him, unable to suppress the stunned look on his face. Wolfwood's voice is coarse and low when he sings, a trembling, crackling hum that evens out the piercing frequency plaguing Vash's mind. It's white noise, hushing every restless tremor in his body and brain, yanking Vash out of the sky by his feet and back onto the ground, here with him.
“Angelito, déjame decir,
Que antes que te vi
No conocí el amor
Y por ti aprendí
Eres para mí,
La dicha que soñé,
Me bendición.”
The vibrations of the guitar rock Vash ever so slightly, sending pleasant tremors through his skin and muscles that lull him into a sleepy haze- despite his previous desperation for rest, he was now fighting said fatigue just to keep his eyes locked on Wolfwood as he played. The priests eyelids were softly closed, lashes fluttering with his head rocked back comfortably. His fingers plucked the strings with an absent precision now, as if it was something he didn't even have to think about, a nature engraved in his being.
A small, content smile drew over Wolfwood's lips, his head tipped upwards towards the ceiling.
“I'm in love with an angel,
and I know that it's real.”
That desperate, silly thing caged within Vash's chest chittered blithely again, spoiled rotten by this moment. He tried, as always, to smother it back into the frigid, dark place where Vash could keep his wilder dreams in check, but simply knowing Wolfwood always made it hard to get away with things like that these days.
And now, looking at him, hearing him sing-
Every fragility of Vash’s was beyond restraint, his faulty parts fit snugly into display cases, everything in front of his heart and out of reach of his wit.
“Got a date with an angel,
for the rest of my life.”
Vash wants to say something, but unfortunately Wolfwood’s tactic, combined with the veering ship of his heart, has worked just as needed on him. He blearily blinks up at the other man, his flesh hand curling in Wolfwood's shirt as his breathing evens out. He strains for an anchor, feels himself drowning in Wolfwood whilst desperately clinging to him like a lifeline all the same. That final chord rings out, but much to Vash’s demise it doesn’t last forever.
“Nick…” He mutters, not really sure what for, because it isn't in request or out of admiration, but just simply because he feels he needs to say it.
Cast in the shadow of the night, a tragic and beautiful scene hung above him, Wolfwood quirks an endeared grin, his stormy gaze soaking up Vash in a way that the blonde has only ever dreamed of from human beings- reverence.
“You should sleep, ‘sposed to be a lullaby, Spikey.” Wolfwood murmurs, the fond smile still drawn across his lips as he lets go of the guitar strings with a hum to run a hand through Vash’s hair.
Vash doesn't want to sleep. For the first time ever, he actually feels here, basking in the radiance of being a living thing with the only man who's ever made him feel like he deserved it. All of this, his body, this room, the sun and the earth, Nicholas- it finally feels real. So painfully real.
He doesn't want to stop feeling it, not this soon. Doesn't want to fall asleep and wake up trapped in his own instilled eternity again. Not when it's so much warmer here, within Wolfwood's grasp, a gentle hand on his head, a beautiful thing staring at him like he's beautiful too.
What if he wakes up and none of this is here?
What if he wakes up and everything is here, he just can't feel it anymore?
Wolfwood's gentle smile bleeds into something sad- all-knowing, just like he always is- and he draws the palm of his hand away from Vash's hair to cup his cheek instead.
“Needle, I feel like I'm losing you to somewhere other than dream-land.” The priest’s voice hushes out, his thumb caressing Vash's cheek just how Vash had done with his thigh before- too warm, too reverent, too real.
Wolfwood is a swimming, dimly lit vision above him now, Vash's exhaustion finally taking helm right when he needed it least and obscuring his eyesight.
He chokes, clings to Nick’s shirt a little harder, enough to hear the fabric strain. His eyelids finally surrender, fluttering weakly shut, but not before he feels tears drawing down his cheeks.
“It's too much.” Vash babbles out into the darkness, no image to cling to when there's nothing to see in front of him. But he knows Nick is there- he can still hear the steady pace of his breathing, can still feel his warm, calloused hand on his cheek.
“Nick.” He says it again with no real reason why. He never knows.
Nicholas does. Nicholas always knows.
“Still here, Vash. Not goin’ anywhere.”
Nicholas is always there.
Vash let's himself eat that thought greedily, allows himself to be satiated by this ignorance, just this once.
Allows himself to be finite, just this once.