sticksandbones | Blanket CW for drug use I'm so sorry

You don't. ...know. What I'm dealing with right now. Okay?

[Every word comes out stilted, halted and grinding, like he's struggling to not say what he really wants to. His fingers slip a little against the outside of that glass he's still clutching a little too tight, but he manages to not drop it as he awkwardly puts it down on the table in front of them.

Instead of sitting back up and into his own space like a normal person though, he keeps leaning into Vash. The building once more feels like it's sinking out from under him, and it's only abated when he keeps his gaze centered towards their laps, or the floor. Talking is keeping his mind off it, though.]

I'd give anything to be in your position, you know? [He doesn't mean that, not quite like the way he's saying it here. But he can't think of better words to articulate himself right now.] You get to run away.

[Vash winces. He's trying his best to bridge that gap, to clear the air between them. His voice comes out staggered even as he tries. He isn't sure if he's making the right choice, or if this will only make matters worse between them.]

Do I? I know I have to confront Nai. [There's a pause. It's his last chance to turn back, to avoid pulling the rug out from beneath the two of them.

He inhales through his nose once, then keeps going.]

And I know you have to take me there. I can't run from that. Not when I can only guess what's at stake for you.

[In that moment, it seems like Vash is speaking to him underwater. That what he's saying isn't real, because it couldn't be, right? He's tripping balls and he's imagining the worst possible thing clearly, so whatever he's hearing from him right now isn't real. Yet, it doesn't stop the way his breath audibly catches, then when he stops breathing for a moment altogether. It's just a few seconds, yet for Wolfwood it feels like an eternity.

I know you have to take me there.

One of his hands is gripping the cushion of the couch underneath him now so hard that if the fabric were any thinner, he probably would have ripped through it. He feels like he's going to be sick.

Then, he abruptly tries to get up.

Before Vash found him, Wolfwood had been laying prone on the couch earlier, trying to contend with what was going on. He didn't know why he felt so godawful, so the best thing he could do was stay still, and that did seem to help for a bit until the anxiety coursing through him forced him up again. As it turns out, that was helping him now, too. So trying to move is...not the best idea he's ever had.

He immediately falls back down. Fall as in, he doesn't slump back onto the couch so much as he practically collapses onto it, crashing into Vash's side and nearly on top of him wholesale in the process, his ankle catching on the table and causing the water glass to clatter audibly when he does.

Where was he even going to go? Who the fuck knows. All he knows is that he's remembered to breathe again, and now he's got his face hidden in one hand, his fingers curled against the side of his face.]

No. No you- you're- I'm tripping, I'm.

[Things happen a little too fast for Vash to prevent. In one minute, Wolfwood is standing, and Vash rises up to follow him. Off-balance as they both are, it's little wonder that Vash winds up half-pinned on the couch beneath the Punisher as he collapses once more. It's a miracle that their heads don't crack together like damn cartoons while they're at it.]

Ow. [He hisses through gritted teeth but... remains still otherwise. He watches Wolfwood warily, waiting for him to flinch back or try to run again. It's only once he doesn't that Vash dares to reach out. Awkward as their angles are, it's hard to reach much of anything but Wolfwood's hair.

So, uh. Sorry for the fingers that card through there, before gripping it just shy of hurting. At least he won't be getting away so quickly.]

C'mon, I know I'm pretty stupid, but I'm not that stupid. You don't just stumble onto someone in the middle of the desert and happen to get hit by the one truck in the desert. And you definitely don't get hit trying to hunt down two reporters.

[If they'd cracked their heads together, maybe that would have sobered Wolfwood up. Or killed him. That might have been preferable, actually.

Right now, Wolfwood is on the verge of hyperventilating. He's...keeping it together, sort of. Barely. But this really isn't good to be hearing while he's also experiencing the worst high of his life. He closes his eyes, and there are unwanted flashes behind his eyelids. First just blank white noise, only to eventually be peppered with other additions. Bright, sterile lights searing into his eyes. The panicked sounding drone of flourescents overhead. The orange-red glow of the Sand Steamer's break as he struggled to turn it while it cooked the flesh of his hands.

Then he feels Vash's hand in his hair, and there's a moment where he nearly tries to move again, like a wild cat being held at arm's length by the scruff. He makes a decidedly pained sound, though whether it's physical or emotional is impossible to tell.]

Are you fucking insane?! Suicidal?!

[He's still whispering, a shrill hiss against the edge of Vash's jacket. It's almost hysterical.]

Why....why....? Why??

[Why did he let Wolfwood stay? Why is he allowing this? Why didn't he just kill him while he had the chance?]

You have a reason. I know you do. [He has a few guesses, the last of which center around the orphanage he'd just thrown himself into protecting. But he won't say as much out loud. He's pushed and prodded enough at Wolfwood —trying to force something that had nothing to do with Vash out into the open on top of everything else would just be reckless.]

Just calm down, okay. I'm not here to hurt you. And I'm not angry.

[Vash isn't good around adult people, at least not when it comes to comforting them. The only thing he can think to do is pat through Wolfwood's hair, ruffling it up the way he might a child's.]

Besides, you were taking me where I was already planning on going. To Knives, right? [He shakes his head.] It was no skin off my back to make sure you accomplished your goal along the way.

[Wolfwood wheezes, still struggling to comprehend that Vash actually means what he says. That this whole time he knew what was up, yet he simply went along with it because...what, he was already going to hunt Knives down? He really does have soup for brains. This isn't just a case of finding Knives, Knives has a trap of some sort set up specifically for Vash, and he's going to be waltzing right into it.

Does that not matter? Even if he was already going to do that on his own, Wolfwood's actions are actively intending to harm him and the others they've been in contact with. Wolfwood has done everything he can to continue on that path up to this point, right down to killing Rollo. The disaster with Livio and Hopeland of course wasn't planned, but...

He falls silent. Mostly. He's shaking now, his breathing coming hard and fast as yet more flashes behind closed eyes, only this time he's remembering everything that feels like it happened just hours prior. Vash was there by his side for all of it, knowing...knowing that Wolfwood was going to betray him.

...

Wolfwood actually doesn't say another word, for now. Maybe he's too caught up in how awful he feels to speak. It just means he's leaning heavily into Vash, trying to breathe and...calm down, maybe. Yet every breath he takes comes hard and labored, to the point where it sounds like he's choking on it at times.]

[It's quickly becoming apparent that he's made a terrible mistake. His hopes of relieving Wolfwood of some of his burdens had swiftly gone out of the door. Now, he had only a man that sounded near tears to deal with. Vash didn't understand why, only that he had to deal with it.

To his credit, he does his best. Even if they're in plain view of the rest of the Inn, he focuses in on Wolfwood like he's the only person in the world. His fingers graze through that dark hair, pushing it from his face and smoothing it down from there. When that doesn't feel like enough, he starts to hum as well. It's an old tune, picked up from his idyllic childhood days back on Ship 05.

During his worst nights, when he'd felt the most afraid, it'd brought him comfort. And though he doesn't know what's running through Wolfwood's head right in this moment, Vash has to hope it'll do the same.]

I meant what I said, you know. [He doesn't know how long it takes for him to finally speak.] When we first met. That you were a good man. I still believe it.

[Vash has to remember that Wolfwood is still very high. Everything is so much right now, to the point where the littlest revelation feels like the end of the world, even though logically he knows that couldn't be further from the truth. He's never been that worried about himself. He's pretty sure if Vash were the type to care enough about this sort of thing to want to kill him over it, he wouldn't be assed. The thing is, he has to live, because if he dies countless others are going to be suffering in his wake. Children. It makes keeping Nicholas D. Wolfwood under your thumb a shockingly easy task.

His head hurts. His eyes feel heavy and the lids ache. His very skin hurts to the touch, yet he is still very conscious of Vash with his hand actively stroking through his hair now as he works with him patiently through this. Far more patience than he deserves, really. His muscles relax, just a fraction. His shoulders lower, his jaw unclenches.

That humming. ....is that Vash?

His words are a little hard to hear over the dull roar between his ears, but at least the sentiment comes through. It just means that Wolfwood will take an honest age to reply, for what feels like a few seconds to him is more like a few minutes for Vash.]

...m'sorry.

[Is what he chooses to finally say.]

M'....sorry. Vash.

[Truthfully, Vash doesn't expect anything out of Wolfwood. And the last thing he expects out of anything is an apology. Silence follows, to the point one has to wonder if Wolfwood truly spoke aloud, or even loud enough. But then, the humming wouldn't have stopped when he started speaking, right? That silence wouldn't have pressed onward?

Eventually, said silence is broken by the faintest huff of laughter. Vash ruffles Wolfwood's hair with a little more playfullness this time. When he settles both his hands and his fluttering chest, he shakes his head. Wolfwood probably can't hear him, so he offers:]

I already forgave you, Wolfwood. If I hadn't I wouldn't be here right now. [Vash might be a pacifist, but that didn't mean he openly embraced his enemies. Wolfwood wasn't that. He was a friend, or at least as close as Vash would let himself come to one.]

Y'feel any better?

[Hold on now, Vash. He wasn't done.]

Don't....deserve.

[His head lists a little to one side, a bit more into Vash's shoulder. Whatever position they've ended up in at this point doesn't matter, even if it's this awkward mishmash of their bodies struggling to occupy the same space on the couch, considering the fact Wolfwood just fell on Vash a minute ago. He's still leaning against him, very nearly burying his face against his arm now.

He speaks again, even quieter. Vash won't be blamed if he misses it.]

Don't...deserve you.

[And maybe that's the crux of it all. That Wolfwood doesn't deserve Vash's endless well of kindness. But that's just the kind of person he is. He'd forgive Nai himself, if the other would ever allow such a thing.

Another gulf of silence spreads between them, but this one is much shorter than the last. This is an easier question to answer.]

Feel like shit.

[He does feel better though. Just a little. It's going to take some more time for this high to wear off, but it's like Vash said. Maybe he should try to sleep, or something.

[At this point, most of Vash's torso has been pressed down against the cushions of the couch. He's half-seated, half-laying, and 100% ridiculous looking, but it's not the least comfortable position he's ever been in. If nothing else, he's pleased that Wolfwood seems to be settling down. He seems almost comfortable.

What he says, of course, is laughable. He can't imagine Wolfwood having done anything to make him so unworthy of care. Of forgiveness. Between the two of them, only one has hands so soaked in red that he can never be forgiven. And it isn't the Punisher. That is how he can offer forgiveness. Because no one will ever be as bad as him.]

That's not true. I wouldn't give it, if you didn't deserve it. [He wants to thump Wolfwood upside the head, or at least ruffle his hair, but now that he's settling down, Vash is remiss to ruin the moment. He leaves things as they are, settled up against his friend as they both try to catch their breath.]

We'll get through it, Nick. [He breathes out a sigh even as he says this. He slows his hand against Wolfwood's back, less rhythmic and rapid now, and more slow and assuring.] You'll be feeling better in no time.

Try shutting your eyes, maybe?

[At this point, Wolfwood is only half certain he’s speaking English anymore, much less saying what he wants to out loud. It takes a Herculean effort to manage it, yet the one thing grounding him right now is Vash. Who knew they’d weirdly bond over Vash helping him survive being super high.

And of course, now Wolfwood knows Vash knows what he’s been up to this entire time. Whether or not the gravity of all of that will fully sink in once he’s sobered up is of course anyone’s guess, but either way it’s out in the open now. There’s no taking it back.

So why? Why would Vash…be so nice to him? Is it because he feels bad for him? Some sort of perceived sense of justice? Is it a moral thing?

All too heady for him to think about right now. He’s like…sort of both sitting on and laying against Vash at the same time in a cartoonish pile, yet he’s too fucked up to care if people see. Maybe they’ll see the brownies and realize it was an accident. Maybe.

Wolfwood groans lowly, though he does close his eyes as Vash suggests. He’s too jittery to fall asleep- he’s been trying for a while but failing (and also under the assumption he’d die if he drifted off)- and ends up just pressing his face to Vash’s shoulder again.]

…

[Part of it really just is who Vash is as a person. He'd give his coat to someone in the cold. He'd give them food off his plate, or the last ounce of water in his canteen. He loves people, and he'd do anything to keep them from suffering. Wolfwood was no exception to that.

What made him different was the journey they'd been through. They had shared very literal blood, sweat, and tears with one another. More than that, there was something good within Wolfwood's soul, and Vash wanted nothing more than to shelter and protect it. He could only guess what all he'd been through, being that he worked for Knives. But whatever it was, and whatever he had done, he was not irredeemable.

And maybe, at the end of the day, Vash saw some of himself in the man. He'd loved and lost. And he'd fought hard to protect innocent people within Hopeland. He wasn't perfect, but there was still something there. Vash wanted nothing more than to see that part flourish.

Gingerly, his hand shifts within Wolfwood's hair. It cards backward, toying with the strands at the back of his neck briefly, before settling down to rub a circle against the back of his neck. Some part of his mind does relish the warmth of his skin and the touch of his hair, but it's far from his mind at the moment.

Right now, he's focused on taking care of Wolfwood, more than anything.]

You'll be okay. And I'm right here, yeah? I've got your back, just like you've got mine.

[Just like he has his? That's not...

...

Wolfwood feels the protests and rejection of what Vash is saying try to bubble up in the back of his brain, only to be immediately pushed back down when he feels Vash's hand at the back of his neck. It's weird, registering it through the haze of the high he's feeling, because he's realizing he hasn't felt an encouraging, grounding touch like that in. God, he has no idea. Years upon years. Perhaps it never happened, and even if it had- perhaps when the caretakers at the orphanage were looking after him- the torture had blasted it from his memory. He knows there's a lot that he can't remember even now, it feeling so far removed from his current reality that it's hard to believe he was ever that scrappy kid all of the other kids saw as family.

He saw them as family, too. He still sees them that way, even if they don't know whatever happened to little Nicholas. To them, he may as well be dead. It's really the core that makes up everything Vash sees in Wolfwood to be true, the good in him that he refuses to see for what it is.

He exhales shakily a few times, and before he realizes he's doing it, he's leaning back into the curve of Vash's hand on his neck.]

Blondie. I...

[Wolfwood starts. Trails off. ...never finishes.

He's falling asleep.]

You...?

[At first, Vash doesn't realize what's happened. He tilts his head just enough to try and catch a glance of Wolfwood, to see what words he seems to be chewing on. With just a little encouragement, maybe —

And then he sees Wolfwood's expression, the drooping eyes, and knows better than to run his mouth. He keeps his fingers moving against the back of his head, each tender touch meant to further coax Wolfwood into slumber. It's the only thing that will rightfully help pass the time back to sobriety.

Eventually, though, Vash does let himself shift. He gives it around ten minutes or so, making sure that Wolfwood's breathing has slowed enough to truly be asleep. Then he works on gathering Wolfwood up into his arms. It's a strange mirror of a few nights prior, when Wolfwood had carried Vash out of the woods. Now it's the Punisher in his arms, being carried to bed.

He doesn't quite want to disturb Wolfwood's privacy by barging into his room, so instead Vash opens the door to his own. He gets the man laid across the bed, and even delicately pulls off his shoes and sets them to the side. Besides that, none of his layers are removed, though he is carefully bundled up. It's been cold, after all.

Which... speaking of cold... unfortunately, Vash only has so many blankets, and they're all piled atop his bed. Remiss as he is to cross any kind of boundaries, he doesn't have much choice when it comes to both watching over Wolfwood and staying warm. So long as he stays at the far edge of the bed, though, it'll be fine, right? No worse than sharing the backseat on a long travel day.

Right?

He tries not to think about it more than he has. His boots are unlaced and kicked off and his jacket hung up, but that's as much as he removes. Satisfied, he buries himself beneath the covers, and wills himself to not fall off the damn bed.]

[Fortunately for Vash, Wolfwood seems to be completely and utterly dead to the world. Even picking him up isn't enough to get him to stir as the marijuana makes its way through his system. He took so much of it unintentionally it's a miracle he hasn't been sick, but maybe that's a testament to how much his systems had been fucked with and how artificially enhanced his constitution is. If being shot point blank hasn't killed him, then too much weed sure as hell isn't going to cut it either.

Still. No matter what he's been through, he is still human at his core, which means the drugs affect him the same as anyone else and he has no choice but to wait the worst of it out. It had been some time before Vash came upon him, meaning that he'd already hit his peak an hour or two ago. Now, he's more than likely on the downswing, finally sobering up. Could do with some more water to speed up the process, but that would require being awake, which he isn't. He also isn't at all aware that he's in Vash's bedroom, in Vash's bed, sleeping next to Vash who has clambered into bed alongside him.

If only he could just sleep in peace, like sleeping off a really bad hangover. Fate isn't so kind to Wolfwood, and the drugs have one final kick in the balls they want to get in while he's still down.

Sometimes when you dream, it feels shockingly real. Like the reality of the world you live in is the dream, and the dream you're having is the true world. That's how his subconscious presents itself now, back in No Man's Land. Right back in the same position he'd been before, leading Vash the Stampede down death row. Their final destination, JuLai. Wolfwood had been tasked with getting Vash there alive. That was it. That was the deal, end of story, he could go and live his life until they blew the dogwhistle the next time. He knew Knives would have dealings with Vash and it would very likely end poorly, he didn't need to be there for it. But dreams are often irrational, and all of a sudden he's back on the dunes, back during one of the many times he'd be sicced on a deserter.

But it's not a faceless goon. It's Vash.

It's not so easy when his hands are the ones getting bloody, is it? He's killed people as effortlessly as breathing, before. He killed Rollo right in front of Vash, despite knowing Vash would be crushed, seeing it as a mercy more worth fulfilling than keeping him alive. Yet in this dream- this reality- his hands tremble as he lines up Vash in his sights. He centers the crosshair.

In the real world, Wolfwood is sweating. God knows how long it's been for Vash trying to rest like this- maybe minutes, maybe actual hours, maybe it's nighttime now- but whether he's awake or asleep, he'll be disturbed by Wolfwood shifting in his sleep, his shoulders hitting the wall. He breathes in sharply like he'd been struck, yet it's clear he's still sleeping given the way he half curls up on his side, his breaths coming as low, sporadic pants.

Whether Vash lives or dies was never meant to be his responsibility. He would be washing his hands of him once he got him to Knives and that would be it. But as the pendulum swings between Hopeland and Vash, he can't pull the trigger.

Outside of the waking nightmare, Wolfwood cries out.]

Vash....Vash!

[Worried as he is, it's hard to shut his brain off enough to rest. By some miracle, though, slumber does manage to eventually wrap itself around him. It's light, fitful almost, and very easily shattered by the suddenly shouting that comes from Wolfwood's side of the bed.

In an instant, Vash is up. He hadn't bothered to unholster his gun, so his hand quickly flies to it. He has it halfway pulled out when his brain processes two separate things. One, Wolfwood appears to still be dead asleep. The second is that they are still entirely alone in the room.

A dream. A nightmare even, but still no tangible threat. Vash exhales his relief as he sets his gun on the nightstand for now. Then he shifts over to Wolfwood's side of the bed.]

Hey. Wolfwood. Nick. [He lays his hand on the man's shoulder and shakes it once. He can see the sweat on Wolfwood's forehead, and now that he's this close, can make out the frantic puffs of breath. Another shake of the shoulder is given, just to be sure.]

Wake up. You're okay. It's safe, okay? I'm right here.

[While Vash attempts to wake Wolfwood, he remains locked in the nightmare. Time passes differently between consciousness and reality after all, which means he can experience entire lives in the span of just a few seconds, if that’s how his brain so chose. Instead, he’s seeing others fall by his hand in his mind’s eye. Rollo. Livio. He sees himself arguing with Vash over Rollo’s body, though their mouths simply move with no sound to accompany it, not when his ears are ringing too hard for him to process anything else.

Then, back on the dunes, he pulls the trigger.

He jolts awake with a strangled sound, suddenly sitting up with one of his arms coming out reflexively to push Vash away. He doesn’t even know it’s him at first, that’s sortof what happens when you wake up somewhere you don’t remember falling asleep. Hopefully Vash doesn’t just go crashing off the bed but hey-

Whether or not he stays where he is, Wolfwood is left sitting upright with one arm hovering at his side, struggling to catch his breath, glasses askew and hair sweat-slicked to his forehead. It takes him a long moment to realize what happened (though he hasn’t yet clocked this isn’t his bedroom) before he falls back down onto the bed on his back, his forearm pressed hard across his eyes.]

[Unfortunately, Vash does indeed go tumbling off the bed. He lands on the his back with his legs bicycling in the air, but he's ultimately none the worse for wear. Nor is he at all discouraged by the effort on Wolfwood's part.]

Hey-! [He clambers back onto the bed, where whatever vitriol that might have been building up dies on his tongue. He can see in Wolfwood's now, once again collapsed state that he's still off. Whatever the dream had been, it wasn't a one-off nightmare. It had stuck with him.

When he speaks next, it's softer. He accompanies it by laying his hand gingerly against Wolfwood's forearm, where it presently is pressed to his face.]

Nick. Hey... Talk to me.

Edited 2023-12-14 20:34 (UTC)

[Sorry Vash he doesn’t even look when you hit the floor. He heard it, but he’s already got his face covered, trying to come back down to reality. One good thing is that upon waking up, he can immediately tell he’s not tripping like he was before. He doesn’t feel GREAT, but he isn’t having visual or auditory hallucinations, and the world isn’t spinning. Mostly.

But when he feels Vash touch his arm, he flinches. He pulls his arm away just slightly, glaring up at the blonde past his wrist. His eyes are bloodshot, eyelashes damp and eyes glittering with shame.

Shame?

It doesn’t help that looking at Vash right now leaves him once more with a sinking feeling of dread. There’s a flash, just briefly, where the Vash looking down at him flickers between one with his head blown to pieces.

Wolfwood looks away quickly, breathing in sharp through gritted teeth.]

What.

[Vash doesn't think he's ever seen Wolfwood's eyes, not without his glasses completely obscuring them. They're still sort of on his face, but askew as they are, they don't do much to hide the tears within his lashes. He tries to figure out just would have upset him so much, especially when it had something to do with Vash himself.

He swallows, lowering his hands into his lap. He has a few guesses. He can only imagine it comes back to what he confessed earlier. His gaze tips away, while his arms slide around his waist.]

You were having a nightmare. [His voice is small, almost like he's afraid of scaring Wolfwood off.] But I'm not going to hurt you, Wolfwood. I wouldn't.

[It's the only thing he can think to say, because it's the only thing he can imagine to have happened. He'd hurt Wolfwood in his dream.]

[Now, normally Wolfwood wouldn't be able to control his temper in a situation like this. The gentle prodding would be too much, and he'd probably just flat out kick Vash out of his own bedroom and demand he be left alone. He does not feel like talking to anyone right now, he just wants to crawl back under the covers and die. Yet, there is an equal side that knows that if Vash left right now, he'd probably struggle with that, too. It's simply because of the confusing miasma of terrible thoughts in his brain that he can't push Vash away. Not now.

But that doesn't mean his response is going to be necessarily kind.]

Stop. Just. Stop. Stop saying that.

[He bites, and while he wants to sit up to talk properly, he's afraid he'll get too dizzy if he tries. He's not yet certain if that aspect of the weed has run its course entirely yet.

But Wolfwood isn't yelling. He isn't firing off at Vash yet, his words coming as a low, agitated rumble from his chest. It may be worse, depending on how Vash looks at that sort of thing.]

You're never going to hurt me. Ever. No matter what. I could hold a gun to your head right fucking now and you'd say "I'm sorry".

[He turns his head to look towards the wall, moving his arm away but still not looking at Vash. It's made a bit worse because he can't exactly pretend he isn't sitting there with concern, not when he can see him in his peripheral.]

I don't...I don't get what your problem is.

[Maybe reckless optimism is a problem, to Wolfwood. Or an overabundance of trust.

Maybe Wolfwood feels instead like he's the one cursed, that anyone he's ever cared about has suffered or died just by being around him. It's the one thing the two of them have explicitly in common.]

[And what do you know. Wolfwood lashes out, and Vash feels the need to apologize. He's lucky that the subject has made him mindful of his own words, at least enough that he can bite down on his cheek. That doesn't keep him from trying to defuse the situation, seeing as how he lifts his hands up in the air. He repeats a downward motion, trying to soothe Wolfwood.]

I just figured you had a nightmare. That I did something to you in it. [He lowers both of his hands, flesh fingers knitting with metal fitfully.

There's more he could say. He could tell Wolfwood that he can't guarantee that he wouldn't get hurt. The world was cruel, terrible things were known to happen, and Vash had watched so many people die. As much as Vash wanted to believe it would be okay, it couldn't be promised.

He says none of this, though. He doesn't want to argue. He doesn't want to cause a fight when Wolfwood was already suffering. Instead, he eases back, so that the Undertaker is the only one on the bed.]

I'll give you some space, alright?

[Yes, it's his room, but that doesn't matter. He'd implied as much before — he'd give anything to anyone if it meant they didn't have to suffer.]

[Wolfwood feels his chest tighten. There's still this feeling of anxiety, that if he lets Vash go, he isn't going to come back. It's irrational and he feels stupid for feeling it- he'd blame it on the drugs, but he thinks those are nearly gone- yet it's there all the same. But his mind and his heart are clearly at odds. The two wolves inside of Wolfwood are fighting. One wants to lash out and rip Vash apart before kicking his ass out into the snow, while the other wants him to stay. Just. Please stay.

He's still not looking at Vash as he takes his shades off suddenly, smudging his thumbs across his eyes with a heavy breath. He's awash with frustration towards himself, simmering underneath the surface while the rest of him keeps replaying that image of Vash with a hole in his head in his mind over and over.

Why does it matter? Vash...shouldn't matter.

But he does. And that's something Wolfwood can't run away from.

He holds the sunglasses tight in his fist before turning over onto his side, facing the wall.]

Yeah.

[He doesn't know this is Vash's room. At least he will have to come back...eventually.]

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