Chapter Text
The bar underneath the hotel was bustling, even this late into the evening. It was the only one in the small mining town of Galverston, so all the locals congregated there to drink after a long shift. Vash grabbed their drinks from a frazzled looking bartender and wove through the crowd as best he could. Sweaty bodies pressed in on all sides, the grime from their coveralls rubbing off on his red coat. It took a good deal of concentration to avoid spilling anything as he made his way back to the corner table where Wolfwood was waiting. They had enough cash between them from doing odd jobs that they could afford to treat themselves to a good meal and a round or two. Galverston was so remote that their double dollars pulled double duty, too. They had even sprung for separate rooms. A little extra space between hours on Angelina II would probably prevent them from killing each other. As it was, they sniped and wheedled endlessly, like a couple of kids. Vash honestly didn’t mind. In fact, he liked to get a rise out of Wolfwood, even if it ended with the Punisher slammed down on his head, or sand poured down his clothes. They could be friends, then.
Clinking their glasses together, Vash took a big gulp of beer. It was warm and a little flat, but definitely not the worst he’d had. At the very least, he was pretty sure that it was just beer, no substitutes. Wolfwood made a face at him. “I’ll never understand why you go for the shit that’s on tap out here in the boonies.”
“What, it’s local flavor!”
He stuck his tongue out. “Yeah, I definitely come to places like this for the flavor.” He threw back his shot of Wild Tomas with the barest grimace. In the privacy of his mind, Vash conceded Wolfwood’s point; the stuff out here was pretty crap. But there wasn’t anything they could do about that. And he did like to learn about the local flavors-he never once said that the flavors were any good. “So, what’s the plan, needle noggin?”
“Hmmm, same as usual? I think that I have everything that I need, and there’s not a lot in the way of specialty shops.” He ran his fingers along the side of the glass. There wasn’t much condensation, but the smoothness was relaxing.“Head out at 9, make for the next town? Unless there was something you wanted to do.” It had been an average day, all things considered; no one had shot at him, but he had spent an uncomfortable amount of money on ammo. They’d need to get some work in Crystal Springs to stay comfortable.
Across the table, Wolfwood leaned back into his chair, the synthetic wood crackling ominously under his weight. “Nah, I’m all set. Angelina II’s good, supplies’re full up, we’ve got everything we need. I figure we’ve been blessed with a quiet evening for once.” He grinned.
Vash lifted his glass. “To quiet evenings.”
“Amen.”
They sat in silence for a while, picking idly at the bowl of peanuts between them and people watching. It was a mining town, so not too shabby, but without a Plant of its own. All of their power came from jury rigged solar and wind, or even kerosene, pricey as it was. Vash loved to have the opportunity to see life go on around him. The boisterous game of poker in the far corner was clearly between old friends, if the shoving and cussing was any indication. Folks wandered in from long shifts, sweaty and dusty, and were invited to sit a while and have a drink. Music crackled from a dinky little radio behind the bar, barely audible over the general chatter. A radio was a rare luxury, and it meant that there was a local tower somewhere. Occasionally, a popular song would come through and it would get picked up by the patrons. The sound swelled, making Vash’s ribs buzz. Living people all around him, sweating and laughing and drinking and being. It was one of his favorite sensations.
An ache had slowly been building in his left shoulder throughout the evening. He rolled it slowly, trying to release some of the tension. Wolfwood’s eyes flicked over to him. “All good?”
“Yeah, yeah, all good. Nothing new.” Vash reassured him. Wolfwood hmmed and went back to watching the crowd. They both knew what it was like to have old wounds start acting up. After one bad shootout and worse argument, Wolfwood had wrangled Vash into promising to tell him when he was injured, for chrissakes. Vash had agreed, though he didn’t think that it was entirely anyone’s business but his own.
He took another sip of his flat, sour beer and stole a glance at the other man. Wolfwood was wedged into the corner, dwarfing the spindly chair. He was leaned back, glass cradled in his broad tan hand. Every so often he’d give it a swirl and take a sip, as if the flavor could be improved by jostling it around. The collar of his shirt was discolored from sweat and shiny from wear. He only had the one, after all. Black hair curled around the worn collar, and Vash noticed it needed a trim. Same with his stubble, which was making headway on becoming a proper beard. From his vantage point he had a great view of the whole bar. And the door. And the back entrance. His dark eyes flitted back and forth, keeping track of everything. He didn’t seem to be tense, so Vash let it be. Both of them preferred to know what was going on in their surroundings, given the life they led.
Abruptly, the music on the radio cut out, replaced by a voice.
“-high speeds…tay indoors until the st…ot safe to trav…” The voice could barely be heard in the rush of static. The bartender leaned over and fiddled with the knobs. A hush had settled over the patrons. Both gunmen had their eyes fixed on the radio, listening intently. Finally, the signal cleared up enough to be heard.
“-eginning at eight thirty tomorrow morning, a sandstorm will be blowing in from the southwest. It is projected to be 200 iles wide, hitting the towns of Borz, Galverston, Crystal Springs, and Chainbridge.”
A groan went up through the crowd. The bartender shushed everyone, pressing his ear up to the speaker to hear more.
“The storm is estimated to last the whole day, dying down around four in the afternoon. We’re seeing high speed winds, 50-60 iles per hour. Stay indoors until the storm passes. It is not safe to travel while the storm is in effect. I’ll repeat again, beginning at eight thirty…”
Vash tuned the radio announcer out. The bar was buzzing with angry voices. People debating about costs associated with closing the mine for the day, about the accuracy of weather reports, about the shit luck that came from living. He drained his beer and looked at Wolfwood. The priest had an exhausted look on his face.
“Well, hell.”
“Yep.”
“So, change of plans.” Wolfwood popped a peanut into his mouth. “No way am I gonna be cooped up in this place all day tomorrow. But, I ain’t in any state to drive at the moment. Not the long haul we’ll need to get out of the storm’s path.” He sighed and wiped at his face. “Wha’ time’s it?”
“About eleven.” It was actually 10:57, but there was no need to be pedantic.
“Ok, the storm’s gonna hit around eight, right? So, I figure a four-hour head start should do us.” He looked up at Vash. “Can you manage that?”
“Yeah, no problem,” Vash replied. The squeezing ache on his shoulder was getting worse. Must be the atmospheric pressure change, he realized. As if the cold nights weren’t bad enough.
“Oh yeah, you get up stupid early anyways, don’cha? Your training regi-whatever.” Wolfwood poured himself another shot, smirking a little. “I always forget that you’re a morning person, needle-noggin. As if you weren’t annoying enough.”
Vash pressed a hand to his chest, mock-affronted. “Your judgmental spirit wounds me. Besides,” he posed a little, flexing his broad shoulders, “it’s a matter of discipline.”
Wolfwood flicked a peanut at his face.
The next morning Vash groaned as he rolled out of bed, catching himself in a crouch on the ground. His body ached straight down to his bones, and he had to force his jaw to unclench. Everything hurt more than usual, twisting him into a ball of pain. Taking a deep breath, he straightened, cracking his spine one vertebra at a time. Slowly, he moved through a series of stretches, letting his joints pop-pop-pop one by one. Feeling less tight, he began to do push ups, his muscles warming as the blood began to pump through them.
Six reps in he woke up enough to remember that he was supposed to head out early with Wolfwood in order to beat the storm. Sighing, he kicked his legs up over his head and held the headstand for a moment before falling forward and springing up to his feet. It felt weird to interrupt his morning routine, sure, but it wasn’t the first time he’d done it. It was just less than ideal.
The floor creaked under his feet as he went over to the dresser where he’d placed a basin of water the night before. At least yesterday-Vash had remembered his promise, even going so far as to lay out his toiletries next to the basin in the order he’d use them.
“Always looking out, yesterday-me.”
The water was chilly and it woke him the rest of the way up. Still, he was extra careful with his razor, not wanting any nicks for grit to get into. Then there was the washcloth over his chest and under his arms, the deodorant, the machine oil and scar balm. He pulled on his leather undersuit, sighing as it compressed and shifted his joints and muscles into better alignment. Clothes done, hair time. Vash met his eyes in the mirror as he grabbed a glob of gel. Mirror-Vash stuck his tongue out at him.
All ready for the day, and only a quarter past four. Not as fast as he’d like, but the storm wasn’t due for another few hours. He did one last sweep of the room before grabbing his duffle and toothbrush to head to the bathroom.
Halfway down the hall he nearly smacked into a groggy Wolfwood. He moved back with a grunt, glaring up at Vash. Dark circles under his eyes and a shirt buttoned up wrong told Vash exactly how restful his night had been.
“Morning! Ready to get going?” Vash chirped, turning on his thousand-watt smile. Wolfwood scowled at him like he wanted to slam his head through the wall. He was so easy to rile up.
“How the fuck are you so chipper at ass o’clock in the morning, Spikey?” he asked, voice raspy with sleep.
Vash cranked the wattage up even more. “It’s because I sleep the sleep of the just and unbelievably handsome! You’ll find that the world is a lot kinder to those who are chosen by fate to be symbols of hope for everyday people,” he said. Wolfwood was squinting at him like he was starting to get a headache. Vash suppressed a snort. Yeah, it was kind of shitty, but there was something about the priest that made Vash want to bug him incessantly. Maybe it was his overblown reactions. That suave facade cracking with a yelp or curse or playful smack. Besides, he gave as good as he got.
“Yeah? And how does the world treat aggravatin’ little shits who give headaches to the guy drivin’ their sorry asses around the middle of nowhere?” Wolfwood sniped back, shoving the bathroom door open. He already had the Punisher on his shoulder. Vash never stopped being awed at how easily he moved it. The damn thing was almost three hundred pounds, but Wolfwood spun it around with such deft grace.
They kept going back and forth at each other as they brushed their teeth, Wolfwood slowly coming to life. He called Vash’s good humor disgusting and inhumane, Vash suggested he not be such a little bitch. When they got to the front desk, he was actually smiling, which made up for how he’d tried to dump water on Vash’s head.
Well, almost.
Vash thought they’d have to wake someone up in order to check out this early, but was surprised to see a woman already at the desk, talking to a small group of people. He felt the man next to him shift, taking in the scene. The crowd was made of miners come in from the night shift, covered in grime. They were talking animatedly about something, and the woman at the desk kept nodding, gesturing to the guestbook with a resigned air. Their voices hadn’t carried the way Vash had expected. They were muffled, everyone trying to be considerate of the hour despite whatever problem was going on. Their workboots scuffed against the synth wood floor, and Vash finally realized what they were covered in. He also realized that the walls had been creaking ever since he’d woken up.
“Shit,” he muttered. Wolfwood glanced at him sharply, catching his eye. He shook his head, finally elbowing into the conversation.
“Hello! We’re here to check out,” he said, deliberately not looking at the miners, just staring at the innkeeper. A woman at his shoulder seemed ready to shove him out of the way, but then let him go. Up close, it was clear that their overalls were crusted in sand, shedding off them continuously.
The innkeeper turned her tired eyes to Vash. “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t think that’s a good idea. The storm came early, and it doesn’t look like it’s letting up any time soon. You should go back to your room and get some shut-eye, alright?” she said. Then she turned back to the exhausted group of miners.
A hatched-faced man spoke up. “Betty, I know it’s early, but can’t you see if there’s something you can do? We just got off an eight hour shift and we can’t even head home to wash up. Just let us sit at the bar, we promise we’ll be quiet. Storm caught us by surprise, that’s all.” The group nodded at that, and Vash saw how tired they looked. One of them, a young man no older than seventeen, looked dead on his feet. Well, this was an easy fix at least. Vash whistled, startling the kid awake, and tossed him his room key. The kid barely managed to catch it, and then every eye was on the gunman.
“We were gonna head out, so why don’t you take my room? I already cleared out, and my buddy and I can relax in his room until the storm passes. Does that work?” he asked, throwing an arm over Wolfwood’s shoulder and grinning at the crowd. He very, very carefully did not look at the face Wolfwood was making, because he had a feeling that it was a “I’m going to give you grief for this later” face, and he didn’t want to deal with that at the moment.
Hatchet-face looked a little startled. “That’s mighty kind, mister, but won’t you want the room? It’s not even sunrise, and the storm is gonna keep us all stuck in here for a while.”
“Nah, I’m fine! I’m a morning person anyways, and the kid over there looks like he’s gonna pass out,” Vash replied, still smiling. The kid seemed to startle at being talked about, and opened his mouth to say something. One of his buddies put a solid hand on his shoulder, shutting him up.
Some of the tension went out of the group at Vash’s offering. “Thanks mister, appreciate it.” Vash gave a little wave and turned back for the stairs, hand pressed firmly on Wolfwood’s shoulder.
Wolfwood’s sigh rumbled in his chest. “Always gotta help out, huh.” He looked back at Vash below him on the stairs. This look was harder to interpret. It wasn’t “I’m gonna kick your ass” or even “I’m tired of your weird bullshit”. Hm. Vash put it in his hip pocket to examine later.
Fumbling slightly with the key, Wolfwood let them into his room, setting the Punisher by the door with a thunk. Vash tried hard not to look at it, just as he tried not to think about it. Too complicated, too early in the morning. Too many feelings. His duffle went on the opposite side of the door. Wolfwood was on the bed, kicking off his shoes with a small grunt, and throwing his blazer over the back of the single chair in the room. He fixed Vash with an extinguished coal glare. Fair, it was only 4:23 in the morning, and neither had had much sleep.
“I’m keepin the bed since you gave up your own,” Wolfwood groused. “And God help me Spikey, if you do not let me sleep, I’m gonna beat your ass from here to Crystal Springs.” With that, he flopped back onto the mattress. Vash snorted softly and eased himself into the chair. He pulled out a paperback he’d picked up a few towns ago and started to read.
Outside the wind moaned against the slats, a weird raspy sound as the sand ate away at the building. Wolfwood’s breathing had slowed, sleep taking him after a few minutes. Vash would look over occasionally, seeing his face softened. Good. It was good that Wolfwood could relax like that around him. And that he was getting more rest. Driving for hours at a time was exhausting, and Vash felt guilty about not being able to trade off with him. But, for some reason, he had bad luck with any kind of transportation besides his own two legs. It wasn’t for want of trying. He’d attempted to learn how to drive many times in the past, but folding himself up and working all the pedals and levers left him feeling flustered and twitchy. His body seemed to fight against him, jolting and bucking until he crashed. Tomases were just as bad, if not worse. They could sense his jumpy-shaky energy, feel the nervous buzz of his skin as soon as he got close. And it felt unnatural, perching on a tiny saddle like that! There was too much of him to bend and fit and by the time he’d made any progress, the poor animal would bolt. Just thinking about it made him uncomfortable. He bounced his leg to get some of the memory of the feeling out.
It was 4:47.
The book wasn’t great, but it wasn’t bad. It was passable erotica with a vague plot threading it together. Something about a noble spacefaring captain and her dashing ingenue of a first mate. Mostly it was fun to see how the author thought space travel worked. He’d see if he could swap it out with something else in Crystal Springs. Vash looked over at Wolfwood again, leg going bounce bounce bounce. Still asleep. Good. Good. He’d been worried he would wake him up. But he hadn’t, and that was good.
Bouncing his leg felt nice. Normally he’d be exercising, burning off energy, but instead he was sitting quietly. He was sitting quietly and being careful to only bounce his leg and not tap his foot, because his boots were heavy and loud and Wolfwood was so tired. It was no big deal, not really. He’d had his schedule interrupted before, and he’d sat in the sidecar for hours before, it wouldn’t be too bad. Vash could be still and quiet. He read his book. It kind of sucked.
It was 5:32 and Vash was losing his fucking mind.
He’d finished the book-which had been terrible and inaccurate, by the way-over twenty minutes ago and was fighting the urge to rip out the pages just to have something to do. It was 5:32, which was normally when he’d be done with his general physical training and move on to technique with the Colt. But instead he was being so so so so quiet and still and he’d had to stop bouncing his legs because the absolutely garbage synth wood had started to creak and he was a good friend. He glared at Wolfwood passed out on the bed by the wall. He had no idea how good of a friend Vash was all the time. It made Vash want to punch him. He wanted to tear out of this room and run the 90 iles to Crystal Springs without stopping. He wanted to exercise until his muscles screamed. He wanted to take the Colt from its holster and make it dance in his hands.
Vash shoved his left hand into his mouth and bit down as hard as he could. The leather gave under his fangs, but he felt the resistance from the nanocarbon steel. The pressure helped, the strain in his jaw more so. Deep breaths through his nose. He dug the fingers of his right hand into his arm, tensing his grip. Just breathe.
It was 5:34.
There was a shift from the bed. Vash’s head whipped around, hand still in his teeth. Wolfwood rolled onto his side, blinking dazedly. “Hey needle noggin. All good?” he mumbled, half awake.
“Mm,” Vash replied. If he didn’t move, maybe Wolfwood would go back to sleep without seeing what Vash was doing.
“Wha’ time’s’it?” Wolfwood slurred. Then he blinked again, eyes focusing. “Spikey…what’re you doing?” He sat up slowly, like he was trying not to spook an animal.
Rumbled.
Vash pried his jaws apart and tried to lower his hand as casually as possible. After stretching his jaw he replied “It’s 5:37.”
Wolfwood swung his legs over the side of the bed and rubbed at his eyes. Vash felt a rush of guilt. He still looked exhausted. Had he woken him? Before he could assure Wolfwood that he was fine, that he should go back to sleep, Wolfwood asked “So…d’ya wanna tell me what that was about?”
“Not really, no.”
There was a string of muffled curses from the bed. “Christ, Spikey, I wake up to see you gnawing on your arm like a chewtoy all hunched over and shit and I’m not sure if I’m having the weirdest nightmare of my life or what. I just wanna make sure you’re alright.” He scrubbed his hands over his face, stubble rasping.
Vash released his grip on his arm. “I’m alright, don’t worry,” he said, trying to sound reassuring and normal. A smile stuck onto his face, and he gave Wolfwood a thumbs up with his left hand. See? Everything’s normal and fine. Based on the skeptical eyebrow he got in response, it wasn’t his most convincing performance.
Wolfwood growled “If you’ve somehow gotten your stupid ass hurt I swear-”
“No! No! I’m fine! Really, it’s ok, just, ah, a little annoying. I’m not hurt, I promise!” He petered off into a nervous laugh that had Wolfwood off the bed and grabbing at his arm before he could stop him. His sharp dark eyes were made more intense by the circles under them and the wild bedhead above. Instead of taking the time to change back into his pajamas, Wolfwood had passed out in his suit, now rumpled. There were red lines on his face from the pillow. If Vash hadn’t been feeling so embarrassed he would’ve made fun of him for looking so dopey.
Wolfwood was turning his arm over in his grip, looking for damage. He paused at the small puncture marks, but didn’t say anything. Finally, he dropped Vash’s arm and put his hands on his hips. Waiting, apparently, for Vash to explain himself. That rankled. Vash was grown and older than Wolfwood, he didn’t need to explain everything he did all the time. Hell, it’s not like Wolfwood was a paragon of transparency, either. So he met Wolfwood’s gaze sullenly and waited.
It was 5:43.
The frown on Wolfwood’s face deepened as he said “Do you know how many kids I’ve had to wrangle over the years?”
Vash growled “I’m not a child, Wolfwood, I can take care of myself and I don’t need-”
“Yeah no shit you’re not a child, so stop acting like one.” He breathed out of his nose and his expression grew more concerned. “I just…if you’re having a bad time, tell me, okay? Don’t just sit there and try’an do stuff on your own when I’m right there!” He leaned forward.
Under his gaze, and his proximity, and the fact that he was right, logically, in some way, Vash crumpled. He made a series of whines and groans as he did.
“I-it’s-augh! It’s nothing! Really! It’s stupid and I can deal with it and you should go back to sleep because you need to drive and I can just relax!” Even to his ears it sounded shrill and hollow. He was not being normal. He was being weird, in fact.
“What’s nothing? You still haven’t told me what’s the matter! Why were you trying to bite your damn hand off? Is it-”he cast around for something that might make sense. As if Vash ever made sense. “Is it the weather? The weather makes you hurt, right?”
Vash was quietly stunned for a moment that Wolfwood had remembered. There was no reason why he should be-Wolfwood was perceptive and had a good memory-but the idea that Wolfwood remembered a detail about Vash, and how Vash felt. Hm. “No, it’s not that it’s…my training thing.” God, admitting that felt wretched.
Wolfwood looked confused. “Whaddya mean.”
Vash sighed. “Every morning I wake up and I train. For three hours. It’s something I’ve done for a long time-I didn’t get this good on accident!” Wolfwood’s face still hadn’t shifted. Right, right, he wasn’t getting out of this one. “It uses up a lot of energy, but it’s energy I’m used to using, so sitting here and not doing anything feels…weird. I feel weird.”
“Weird.”
“Twitchy. Jumpy. I was just trying to calm down. I’m fine, it’s good, it’s just frustrating. I’m sorry if I woke you, and I’m sorry for worrying you.” Vash leaned back in his chair, breaking eye contact. “That’s it. Cross my heart.” He crossed his arms and squeezed his chest as hard as he could. No one had ever seen him freak out like that before, especially no one he’d ever been close to. The biting was embarrassing, it felt childish. How was he supposed to explain that he wasn’t trying to hurt himself, but that at times he needed to sink his teeth into something and, well, he couldn’t feel his left hand anyways. He was immediately aware of just how big and noticeable his fangs were. How inhuman.
Wolfwood had been quiet for a while now. Vash snuck a wary glance back at him. Brow drawn down in thought, he wasn’t looking at Vash, but instead at a point on the room’s little table. “So,” he began, “you’re like…a dog that needs to be walked every day or else it starts chewing up the furniture.”
“I am not a dog!” Vash squawked indignantly, jumping to his feet. That explosive movement was enough to start him trembling uncontrollably. All the pent up energy started to move through his body, making him shiver.
Wide-eyed, Wolfwood stepped back. “Woah, hey, I’m sorry needle noggin, I didn’t mean it like that, shit.” He raised his hands palm out, placatingly. He rambled on, “I was just trying to figure out what was up, I know you’re not a dog, that’s not what I meant, you’re a-” and then stopped. The weight of what Vash was appeared in the room then, unacknowledged but unforgettable. “-a person.” Wolfwood finished, barely covering his lapse.
It was 5:49. Almost two hours since they had woken up, and still the storm raged on.
“What do you need?” The question was soft, and something like an apology was tucked in the space between the words. Vash, still shaking like he was going to break out of his body, breathed in.
“Could…could I practice with my gun? Unloaded, of course, and it’s pretty quiet, and I know that it’d be kinda crappy of me to work out when we can’t even crack a window right now.”
Wolfwood snorted. “Yeah, your B.O. is godawful, I’d suffocate for sure.”
“And your morning breath could topple a grand worm at fifty paces,” Vash retorted, but there was no heat in it. The anxiety in his chest lessened bit by bit. He smiled, but kept his lips firmly pressed together. No need to remind Wolfwood of his nightmare mouth.
“That wasn’t too hard now was it?” Wolfwood clapped him on the shoulder before turning and laying back in bed. “I mean damn, Spikey, I’m not some little pampered prince, I can deal with some noise,” he grunted.
“You said that you’d kick my ass from here to Crystal Springs if I woke you up!” Vash protested.
“And I meant it, but that was to prevent you from pulling some bullshit like putting my hand in a bowl of water or whatever the hell,” Wolfwood countered, stretching out. “Go ahead and practice your fancy tricks, I’ll catch some z’s. Then we can head down for breakfast and get some more information on the storm.” His head had just hit the pillow when he bolted upright. “Oh sweet baby Jesus, Angelina II! I left her outside in the sand!” He was halfway out of the bed when Vash pushed him back down, laughing a little.
“Don’t worry, preacher man, I asked the guy behind the bar to roll her into the shed last night just in case.” Wolfwood was easy to press down into the mattress. He huffed, mouth twisting into a scowl.
“How dare you let another man put his hands on her! She’s a classy lady who deserves respect.”
“Wolfwood. Do you want to fuck your bike?”
Vash’s sudden profanity startled a laugh out of Wolfwood. “Looks like someone’s feeling better. Go on, do what you gotta do to stop jitterbugging all over the place.”
Vash blew a raspberry and drew the Colt. Double checking to make sure it wasn’t loaded, he flicked a double penny in the air and brought the barrel up underneath it. The coin landed on its side, and he made it somersault over and over with deft flicks of his wrist. Immediately, the tension drained out of him like a popped blister. Focus on the coin, move the arm, breathe out halfway before squeezing the trigger. Lulled into a meditative state Vash barely registered ten, fifteen minutes passing. Only when he looked around the room for a passable blindfold did he notice Wolfwood, watching him. His eyes were locked on Vash, expression unreadable. Ah, right, he’d never seen Vash move quite like this before. Usually, all of his motions were disguised in extra flailing and fladoodling, designed to put watchers at ease. Still not doing a great job at being normal today, Humanoid Typhoon. Storm in the general shape of a man.
“Damn.” It was a whisper, a breath. Wolfwood still hadn’t looked away. Those black eyes bore into him, through him. Instead of making him afraid, making him shake, he felt held down. Gently, like the weight of his coat or a hand on his shoulder. Wolfwood smiled and murmured “I knew you were good, needle noggin, but seeing it up close is something else.”
Vash chuckled a little. “Well, it’d be pretty embarrassing if I’d been working so hard with nothing to show for it.” He was buzzing again.
Wolfwood reached over for a cigarette, the flash of the lighter illuminating his face. He took a deep drag, exhaling a plume of smoke. “You’ll have to teach me how to do that sometime.” And then, so soft Vash barely caught it, “There’s that smile.”
It was 10:45. A few hours ago they had gone down to the bar for breakfast. The miners from the night shift were there, and insisted on treating them. Wolfwood hadn’t gone back to sleep, but said he was fine, especially after coffee and a few more cigarettes. As more guests had woken up, they’d grumbled about the storm and the wrench it threw in their plans. The young man-just a kid really-had come up to Vash, awkwardly stammering his way through an apology. Vash waved it off with as big a smile as he could manage and ordered a stack of pancakes for him. The young man (Derrick, as it happened) had bobbed up and down in gratitude before turning on his heel and making for the opposite end of the room. Wolfwood chuckled, shaking his head.
They were five hands into a low-stakes game of poker with the other guests when a shout rang out. “Look! The storm’s gone!” A cheer filled the bar as people got up to pay tabs and cash out. Vash stretched all the way out in his seat, long legs snaring the chair opposite him before springing up. He had been aching less and less as the storm passed, and working with the Colt made him feel like he fit in his skin again. Wolfwood sidled up next to him as they paid for the rooms and headed out back.
“Ready to sit still for another couple’a hours, needle noggin?” he asked, starting Angelina II’s engine. He’d crossed himself in relief when he saw that it wasn’t choked with dust.
Vash groaned. “Augh, fine. It’s not like I’m gonna walk 90 iles.” He slung his duffle into the side car and hopped in after it. The rumble of the engine worked its way into his bones and made him a little jittery, but it was manageable.
Once the town had faded over the horizon, Vash was kicking his heels in the footwell of the sidecar, trying to keep himself distracted. One one two three five eight he counted in his head. He’d see how far he could get before they stopped to stretch their legs. Last time he’d gotten antsy he’d done primes and reached 14,591 before he’d gotten bored and calculated the trajectories of particularly difficult trick shots.
He was so in his own head that he didn’t notice Wolfwood had stopped the bike until he poked Vash on the temple. “Hey, needle noggin, c’mon, get out,” he said, gesturing at him to scoot.
Vash complied, confused. “What’s up?” he asked, looking around for trouble.
“Nothing. I figured this’d be a good place for you to burn off some of your juice.” He leaned back and lit a fresh cigarette. “Well go on, git. We don’t have all day.”
Vash gaped at him. He couldn’t help it, the whole situation was too damn weird. This whole day was too damn weird. He had been weird and now Wolfwood was acting like this was something normal to deal with, which was weird, and they’d come dangerously close to talking about it, which was terrible. In vain he searched for a way to say all of this. To ask what the fuck Wolfwood thought he was doing, what favor he thought this was. Instead, all he could manage was a pathetic “What juice?”
Smoke streamed out of Wolfwood’s nostrils as he sighed, exasperated. “Your get up and go juice, Spikey. The stuff that makes you buzz like a jar full’a worms and gnaw on your hand. Is that what the leather’s for, by the way? Nice mouth feel?” he asked, mouth twisted up in an impatient leer.
Vash flipped Wolfwood off, pouting a little. “Thank you sooo much for your concern, I really appreciate it. But I don’t need to be let out for a walk, I can control myself, and I’m fine,” he snarked. While he understood where the dog comment had come from, it still stung. A lot more than he was willing to admit, for reasons better left unexamined.
Instead of replying, Wolfwood just lowered his shades and stared pointedly at Vash’s left leg. Vash followed his gaze and picked up on the tattoo he was tapping into the sand. Glaring back up at him, Vash caught the insufferably smug look on his face. Defeated, he whined and grabbed at his hair. Wolfwood leaned back into his seat, smirking around the filter of his cigarette. “Go on, Spikey, we don’t have all day.”
Wolfwood was a wretched little shit who needed to learn some manners.
And Vash never did tell him the whole story of why he was called “Stampede.”
In a flash he was off, feet hammering on hardpan and kicking up dust in his wake. He was so light without his duffle, and it had been a long, long while since he’d been able to stretch his legs out without someone chasing him. To run for the sheer joy of it. He heard Wolfwood’s startled shout behind him, and the rumble of the engine a few seconds later.
It didn’t take very long for the bike to overtake him-he was fast, but he couldn’t outrun a motorcycle. Wolfwood was shouting something at him, impossible to hear over the wind in his ears and the engine roaring. But the shocked eyes under the glasses and the frantic gestures were so funny that Vash threw his head back and laughed. It was a big, real laugh that leapt out of his chest and seemed to fill the desert. He put on an extra burst of speed, and heard the shift in pitch as Wolfwood had to change gears to keep up. He was laughing too, an unguarded and incredulous sound.
After about 15 iles (16.23, but who was counting) Vash finally started to slow. Wolfwood pulled up alongside him, and when he turned off Angelina II’s engine, Vash flopped face first into the sand. Damn, how long had it been since he’d run that fast, that far? His lungs burned and his heart pounded in his chest, but he felt alive. He could probably do that again, but they weren’t making the best time to Crystal Springs.
“Holy shit!”
Vash lifted his face from the ground, sand falling out of his hair. Wolfwood was sprinting towards him, grinning. “Holy shit, Vash! You were going 40 iles per hour back there! How did you do that?!” His face was lit up in excited wonder, like that had been the coolest thing he’d ever seen. It was almost enough to make Vash blush. He reached a gloved hand up, smiling awkwardly, and Wolfwood hauled him to his feet.
Vash scratched the back of his head self-consciously. “Ehehehe, well, I’m not called the Stampede for nothing!” He let Wolfwood lead him back to the bike, punching him on the shoulder and scruffing up his sandy hair.
He felt calm the rest of the ride to Crystal Springs.