orangetintedglasses

[orangetintedglasses]

The moment Wolfwood's mood shifted to something more dour, the atmosphere of the room went right along with it, sapping all of the warmth from the conjured space in what felt like seconds flat. That was one of the bigger downsides of being in a mental space like this; any change in the 'host's mood easily impacted everything around them, right down to the thickness of the air, which was something Vash had learned from the handful of times he'd ever been tangled up with something like this.

This time, though, it was definitely… surprising. Or maybe the word was 'jarring'—

"I— wh—" the blond struggled to find words in the moment, just sort of stuck watching Wolfwood fall back against the head of the bed as he tried to get his own thoughts in order. But he didn't understand— what was that supposed to mean, he 'didn't have to say it back'? He already had! Twice! He'd said it back and he'd meant it, he—

Why would he trust anything you have to say, though?

. . .

… that thought… should have kneecapped him. Would have kneecapped him, any other time, and made it so Vash would just back down, retreating with the pain in his chest and a wash of immediate self-blame for what had happened. And it tried, he could… he could feel it there, bubbling up in his chest like hot oil, it just wasn't strong enough to counter what was already there. Because… no. No, that wasn't the point right now. The point was that this was—

"… that's exactly why we have to talk about this, Wolfwood." Vash's voice was low, and nearly shaking as he turned away from the other man, putting both feet on the floor again. Digging long, scarred fingers into the sheets beneath his hand until his knuckles blazed white, even against his fair skin.

"I know… I know you have no reason to believe that I meant that. I completely understand. But y-you— you reached out to me. You wanted me here, and I-I know it wasn't just to turn it around on me and shut down, so why—"

Ugh, this wasn't— this wasn't something they should be doing right now. He wasn't going to have an argument with the undertaker in his own mind while he was still laid up and recovering, that wasn't fair—

"… sorry. You don't… have the energy for this right now, I'll… I'll get out of your hair." he said. He ran a hand over his face to help set it back to something more neutral, and pulled himself from the bed, rising to his full height. "Just focus on resting, okay? We're all worried about you out there. And I will be here when you wake up, like I promised."

Despite his best efforts, Wolfwood visibly deflates. Is Vash... forcing himself to say these things? Hell, is he only here because he feels guilty? Shit—he... maybe this whole thing is a bad idea, maybe he should shut this whole thing down... some... somehow...

"Look, I'll just be happy to see you at all. I wasn't taking good care of myself without you there, either; Luida could tell you that," the undertaker adds, providing some insight into how he fared without Vash around. He falls slowly back onto the pillows, his heart feeling as if it's caught in his throat. Though he's reluctant to speak on the awkward mood of the room, Wolfwood does manage to force out, "You don't have to say it back, you know. You don't even have to feel the same. I just vowed to myself that I'd tell you after I found you, and... I thought I was going to die..."

He swallows, looking off to the side again. His gaze is distant. His chest feels hollow. The room feels ice cold; a cloud seems to cover the sources of the rays of light that were streaming from the window. He... he shouldn't have said anything. He ruined the mood—now Vash is going to be overthinking everything and—and what was he thinking?

"I'm... I'm sorry. I trapped you," Wolfwood mutters, feeling small. He can't help but reflect on all the stupid shit he'd said over the past... whenever—no one can keep up with Vash, not even him. Why does he bother trying? Why did he, even for a second, think that he was worthy of Vash's time? He's a fleeting moment in an immortal's life—a... a passing tumbleweed in a famous vagabond's memories.

"I'm glad you're okay. That's all I can ask for right now—that... that my stupid plan worked, and you're healthy and I'm on the mend," he pauses, burdened by heavy thoughts. "That's all I need. That's all I..."

Deserve.

Clearing his throat, he shuts his eyes and fully collapses into the pillow, face facing away from Vash. He exhales, trying desperately not to reveal how close to tears he became—trying so, so hard to swallow the pain, to try to feel okay with having a black hole in his chest where his heart should be. That... that is what he deserves.

[orangetintedglasses]

Admittedly, Vash had thought about that a little, too— about how much weight and muscle mass the undertaker was going to lose by being bedridden for so long, and how much Wolfwood was probably going to hate it. At least it seemed to be sort of slow-going; outside, the man definitely looked a little slimmer, but it wasn't like he looked emaciated or anything, just…

"… I love you, too…" he murmured, wrestling past the way the words made him feel so he could reciprocate. The waves of elation and surprise that crested over the back of his head, only to be followed by the inevitable looming crash of self-loathing that threatened to have the blond ruin the mood by saying something stupid, so he kept it at that. Because even if he didn't deserve those words— and both of them felt that way, he was aware of that —just like before, when they'd exchanged the admission the first time, Wolfwood did. He deserved to hear it. To know without a shadow of a doubt that Vash felt the same, that he was loved in return— "… which is… something we're gonna have to talk about, when you're feeling better."

He made sure to say it with a smile and a lighter tone of voice, because he didn't mean it in a dire way. At the end of the day, those words did… mean something. They meant a lot of somethings, and some of those things were probably going to end up dire, anyway, but they couldn't just brush past it like they had before—

Don't ruin the mood, Stampede.

Vash chuffed gently and moved swiftly along, refusing to let that hang in the air for too long, "there's a lot we're going to have to talk about…! L-like how we can work on the whole… taking care of ourselves-thing together, once you're cleared for it. C'ause, lets face it, I'm right there with you… and it'd be easier, if it…"

… Vash swallowed the rest of the words as they hardened and formed a hard lump in his throat. It'd be easier if it wasn't just him trying to focus on himself. It'd be easier because, when it was, he couldn't feel much of anything when it came down to it. His cues were messed up again, just like they had been after JuLai, because just like back then, they'd tried to take them from him— tried to train his body not to need them when that just wasn't how he worked—

What did we just say about not ruining the mood?

"… just… something we can do together." Vash concluded, rolling his thumb over the line of Wolfwood's jaw. "I'll try to be better at it in the meantime, but I can't promise anything right now— try not to be too mad at me if you wake up and I don't look much different, okay~?"

Wolfwood removes his hands from his face, choosing instead to place one on top of the one cupping his jaw. He shuts his eyes serenely and pushes against the gentle force much like a cat would. It's odd how body heat remains in this... imaginary place, but Wolfwood supposes maybe that has something to do with how fondly he thinks of these precious hours they spend together.

"Three months... I'm gonna wake up and I'll be skin and bones, ugh," he mumbles in response, rubbing his patchy stubble against Vash's hand, "You know how long I spent working on my body after JuLai? S'gonna take me forever to get back to that."

Realistically... no, it won't, but he'll complain for the sake of complaining.

He opens his eyes to meet Vash's gaze with a soft, adoring look.

"I love you," the words slide off of his tongue much easier this time, as though it soothes him to say them. Even though he wants to curl up and hide whenever he thinks too hard about the idea of 'loving' something... someone... even though it makes him want to run when he thinks about whether he deserves it, when he thinks about the future...

He really does mean it.

"Happy birthday, Vash."

Wolfwood takes a second just to breathe—to take the whole moment in for what it is. He shuts his eyes again and hums, tightening his grip on Vash's hand ever so slightly.

"I'll be up and moving around before you know it," he chuckles, cracking an eye open to tease the blond, "So would'ya please take good care of yourself? For me? Put a hell of a lotta effort into slappin' you back into that body, it'd mean somethin' to me if you took care of it. That means eatin' three meals a day, showerin' every now and then, and cuttin' your hair in the way you like it, for the record."

[orangetintedglasses]

… a muscle fluttered somewhere beneath the blond's brow, which took the curiosity in his gaze and skewed it somewhere a little closer to confusion as his gaze dropped down to the bedsheets, clearly running through the last few weeks in his head. Crunching some numbers, trying to recall even the ballpark figure on when he would've even bothered looking at a calendar last—

The question was obvious, even without Vash voicing it aloud: it's my birthday?

More pieces slotted into place, and his brows shot up.

It was his birthday today. Yeah, no, wow— he hadn't— he hadn't noticed or even thought about actual dates in a long time, now that he was really thinking about it. Everything since May was kind of just one big blur, punctuated by the sound of Wolfwood's heart rate monitor and the motion of other people around him. Vash hadn't even realized what month it was… but Wolfwood, somehow, had managed to get a hold of a date at some point in the state he was in, and remembered better than he did.

And was apparently very, very embarrassed about it, which was just… precious, honestly—

"H-hey, come on, now—" Vash reached out and touched the undertaker's knee with a smile— one filled with poorly-restrained affection and admiration, and tinged with concern that made it wear a little tighter around the Plant's eyes, "you're in recovery, don't— don't worry about stuff like that, yeah? S-seriously, the fact that you remembered is more than enough, I didn't even know it was my birthday today…"

He turned a little more, pulling himself further up the bed so he could sit closer, cross-legged in front of his companion. It was so… easy, to fall back into old ways, the routine of touch that they'd cultivated… Vash lifted the hand on Wolfwood's knee up to his face so he could sweetly cup his jaw without even thinking about it.

"Guess it makes sense that you're bored, though… it's been nearly three months since… all of that… happened."

"Well—ugh, now that you've asked, it's gonna sound downright stupid," Wolfwood grumbles, bashfully pinching at the sheets beside him. He rubs the fabric against itself in the little bunch between his fingers, awkwardly avoiding eye contact despite his hard work to get this far. "I don't have a good way to keep track of time. Sometimes I get lucky and I... sorta overhear a date or two. It's really fuzzy."

His other hand tightens its grip on Vash's as his gaze wanders up to meet the blond's eyes before flickering away again—right back to the sheet.

"It's... your birthday soon, isn't it? Hopefully right now—today?"

Though he tries to hide his face, it's clear as day that his cheeks are staining pink as he fumbles over his words and reasoning. Slumping his shoulders dramatically, Wolfwood then snaps his head to make eye contact with Vash—no matter how hard he has to blush doing so.

"I wanted to say happy birthday. Even if I... don't have anything to give you. I don't even think I'm capable of giving you a—ahem—"

He lets go of Vash's hand so that he can use it instead to palm his entire face. Before he can embarrass himself further, he grumbles through his gritted teeth.

"—give you, uh, a... you know... massage. M'too tired."

Wolfwood's other hand joins the one currently palming his face as he attempts to completely obscure his blush. Why is he so... so... so...?! Ugh—

Silver eyes peek from between his fingers.

"Besides," he adds quietly, "M'bored. Wanted to see your spikey head. Missed your goofy smile. All that gooey stuff."

[orangetintedglasses]

"Wh—?!"

The comment was so direct and ridiculous, snuck in at the end like that, that Vash couldn't help but laugh— a quick little bark of a noise that came out before he could even hope to catch it, "sh-shut up…!"

Two months bedridden, comatose in all but name, and the first thing he had to do was bug him about that?

… well, of course he did. It was Wolfwood; even if Vash could see how tired the undertaker still was from where he was stood, nothing could stop him from filling his teasing quota, especially now that he was in a deficit. The blond nodded in response to his question, though, squeezing Wolfwood's hand with a soft sniffle as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Yeah, th-they showed up…" Vash confirmed, rubbing at his eyes again with his free hand, "your vitals all say your brain activity is still pretty low, s-so when you started glowing, I think you gave the doctor a pretty good scare… h-he had a lot of print outs from the engineers…"

… but that did pose the question—

"Why did you reach out like that, though…?" he turned his body towards the undertaker so he could face him a little better to talk; bringing one leg up onto the bed and bending it at the knee so he could tuck one foot beneath the other knee, one foot still propped up on the floor— "d-don't… don't get me wrong, I'm so happy to see you, but you don't exactly have the energy to spare right now…"

"Hi darlin'," Wolfwood replies warmly, his form already shuffling from under the covers to sit upright. He grabs a pillow from his side and places it behind him—it's odd how realistic this dream state is, but he'll just chalk it up to how bored he's been sleeping all the time. Even now Wolfwood can feel his eyelids drooping, but the thrum of excitement overpowers the fatigue at least a hundred times over. "Missed you."

Reaching out weakly to take Vash's hand in his own, the undertaker can't stop smiling to an almost unnatural degree. Being in love is stupid. It makes him feel a stupid kind of way—makes him act stupid too.

But...

It also feels... good... so...

"Did the markings show up outside? I was... trying to call you somehow, and that was the only thing I could think to try."

His thumb rolls across Vash's knuckles as he scans the blond's face and features, looking him over to see if he's been taking care of himself. He scoffs lightly, his smile skewing as he comes to the conclusion of 'no, definitely not.'

"You need a haircut."

[orangetintedglasses]

Well this was… definitely not what he expected.

Though, to be fair, it wasn't like Vash had been expecting much of anything when he responded to the request for synchronization. Maybe they would have a short conversation together, or maybe Wolfwood would try and get something like a need or want across in broken fragments… or, maybe nothing would have happened at all. That was all he was going into this with as he brought their faces close, took a slow, deep breath in, and sent out a curious lilt of a question, his own markings igniting slowly…

Then, he was suddenly somewhere else.

Vash came to just as he walked through the threshold of an inn room, his hand still circled around the knob the moment his mind sharpened and the warmth and familiarity of a comfort he'd run from washed over him in a wave, making his breath catch in his throat. If it weren't for the fact that he was still dressed as he was in the waking world— the standard dingy Sinner's leggings and a white tank top —Vash would've easily believed that he was just waking up from a long, long dream…

But it was… kind of the opposite.

He went over the details in the reconstructed space as he walked further inside, from the motionless ceiling fan to the walls to the way the floorboards creaked beneath his feet, eventually landing on the bed… and of course, the figure therein. The figure whose eyes were already on him in kind— and once their gazes locked, Vash felt two things in rapid succession. The first was a flush of excitement: something fast that filled up his chest with the same warmth that filled the room.

The second was an immediate sense of embarrassment, which turned that warmth into a flash of shameful, searing heat.

The blond looked like a wreck right now, with his too-long hair and bags under his eyes, a-and the second he realized what was going on he should have thought to change— to alter his projection to one worth seeing, and not— not this ratty, dingy version of himself—

… but the excitement overtook it again fairly quickly; the warm, fluttery feeling wrapped itself tight around his chest and refused to let go, squeezing in a way that left Vash feeling giddy and eager to move, to get closer, his knees bumping up against the side of the bed—

"O-of course I came to see you—!" he blurted, and… wow, it had come out a lot more clotted and wet than he'd meant for it to. He had to swallow to fix it, but sure enough, the tears were already springing to his eyes in response, his blinks becoming rapid. "I wasn't sure i-if it was— if I could even—"

Too many things to say all at once. His voice even distorted with it slightly, like a backing of TV static— but he managed to calm himself after a moment or two, bringing a hand up to scrub at his eyes with the heel of his palm. Once it was clean enough, he let it drop back to his side, and looked at the undertaker with a simmering, fond look that had every unsaid thought and feeling sparkling in the depths of his cerulean blues.

"… hi, Wolfwood~…"

"Right," the doctor confirms, gingerly taking his tablet back and turning the screen off for the time being to conserve energy, "We'll give you privacy and keep an eye on his vitals remotely. If anything troubling happens, you can be sure that we'll be taking care of it from out here."

He stands up, drawing half of a privacy curtain around Vash's back as he does, then backs away and pulls the other half closed. His steps echo into the hall, and then the door hisses behind him with a hydraulic hiss. Vash is given all of the peace that he needs in order to connect to Wolfwood—a luxury quite rare during these turbulent times.

†††

When Vash does manage to soothe himself enough to connect to Wolfwood as he would a Dependent, he's met with a... familiar sight. As far as dreams go, Wolfwood is a humble dreamer. He rarely imagines having anything that he doesn't already have access to, keeping his aspirations low and achievable. Any stretch goals he may have in his life are kept close to his chest and face-down—and... shoved in a safe or a locker far, far away. He doesn't know the passcode, he doesn't want to know the passcode—

Vash enters a dimly lit inn room, one that they've been in before, the sort of conglomerate of inn rooms that they've rented out over the past couple of years. It's mostly clean in here—rays of sun peek through the blinds and highlight specks of dust that float listlessly through the air. A ceiling fan doesn't stir any of the imagined dust in the room, maintaining a the moderately temperate climate of a sun-warmed rock in the room.

It's... cozy.

Punisher sits untouched leaning against the wall in the small entryway. Even his shoes lie on the floor, neatly placed together like they haven't been worn in weeks.

Wolfwood did allow himself the luxury of a king-size bed, however; he peeks over at Vash with tired eyes from below covers pulled tightly to his chin. He can't hide the flare of excitement that roars through his expression, nor can he hide the wide smile he bears upon seeing his partner simply walk into his mental palace like a simple inn room.

"It... it worked?" Wolfwood croaks, his voice cracking from disuse, "You came to see me..."

He's not even sure what to say. He didn't expect to get this far...

[orangetintedglasses]

Ah, right… his own personal messages— which, when mentioned, brought the image of the tablet in his room sat on the table, where it was basically just gathering dust. Vash couldn't even recall it lighting up or anything like that; it could be completely out of juice for all he knew about it… he grimaced and mumbled an apology as the doctor sat down. It didn't seem like the man was really interested in letting the blond get a self-depreciating word in edgewise, though.

So, he'd just listen for now, nodding and accepting the offer of the tablet with Wolfwood's vitals on it when it was presented to him. Unlike his own personal device, this one was one he had interacted with quite a bit over the last few weeks; watching as all the bars slowly changed from red-orange to yellow, then made the steady climb up into the green over time.

… the presence of red was still… disconcerting, though. And while it was good that the bar wasn't solid red anymore, the fact that that one was the one tied to brain activity didn't give him much comfort— only serving to put a pretty deep pit in his stomach every time he saw it.

You're being asked a question.

Vash blinked and looked up from the pull of the screen, tumbling out of his own head.

"S-sorry— yeah, we've communicated like Plants before. More than a few times, actually—" he explained. "After a while, we were even able to manage a way to communicate like that with a small amount of distance between us. As far as I could tell, it never hurt him…"

Wolfwood had even encouraged it himself, sometimes… but that was a detail Vash pointedly kept to himself, due to the fact that it was mostly done when they were being… intimate.

That was also before the undertaker's soul had been torn out of him and kept in a place that it was never meant to be. What if he was still at risk of, then, even if it was just the two of them communicating one on one…?

… what if there was something genuinely wrong, and Wolfwood was trying to reach out for help the one way he might've been able to in this state…?

Vash's gaze drifted from Wolfwood's vitals, to the man itself, where it lingered for a few more seconds than it probably should have… then, eventually made its way over to the doctor. He offered him a weary sort of smile that made his expression somewhat torn— he didn't want to make things worse, but— "it's worth a shot, though, right…?"

He could always sever the connection and back out, if he needed to, so Vash opted to pull up a chair close to the head of the bed, where he could just lean over and bring their foreheads together. It would be a slightly uncomfortable position to be in if things ran long, but it was a lot less awkward than, say, climbing into the bed with him in front of the poor doctor—

"Oh, Vash, good, you're here," the doctor turns to face the persistent visitor, holding some printouts in his hands—seemingly literature sent to him by the engineering department on the ship. His glasses slip down the bridge of his nose, causing him to quickly push them back up with two fingers. "We let you know as soon as we noticed, so this has been going on for about thirty minutes now. Though, I suppose you don't... much check your messages. Luida said as much."

He sets the papers to the side on a counter, then takes a seat next to Wolfwood, watching the markings on his forehead fade back to invisible upon his approach.

"Thankfully, one of the engineers got back to me fairly quickly... but we don't know much about Independents aside from you. N-not... that Mr. Wolfwood here is an independent, but that's our nearest frame of reference." He takes a sip of coffee from a nearby mug, then holds a tablet out for Vash to peruse. It displays all kinds of vitals, all highlighted by green or greenish-yellow backgrounds, which seems to be good news. "His vitals are steady, though we have been noticing an increase in brain activity. It's not... near conscious levels, but it is a sign that he might be ready to wake up soon."

As Vash looks at the tablet, it does seem that one section—the brain activity section—flickers between light red and dark yellow. Wolfwood doesn't seem to be reacting to their voices, but he does seem to be thinking about... something.

"The... engineers said that he's either experiencing some kind of health concern—which... he doesn't seem to be—or needs to talk to, uh, well... you. Or, of course, there's some disconnect between him and his Plant abilities... like some wires that are crossed, or something."

He looks thoughtful, but concerned as he directly addresses Vash now. His hazel eyes pierce the air between them as he looks from above his narrow frames.

"Does it hurt him if you talk to him like you do with the other Plants? Have you tried doing that before?"

[orangetintedglasses]

Two months was… kind of a long time.

It usually wasn't for someone as long-lived as Vash was, but when circumstances out of your control left you hoping that at some point— every hour, every minute, every second of the day —someone might finally open their eyes again, time made a pretty nasty habit out of crawling by.

The first week or so after everything, that had been a little busier— thanks in no small part to Luida and the more Independent-savvy Sinners on board keeping him occupied. Basic examinations, poking, prodding, bandaging wounds and triple-checking that there was no internal damage made time just sort of fly by, as did dealing with the mess the doppelganger had made of his left arm. It took them a full two days to get the thing off of him, a process that was a lot more invasive and painful than any of them, including the blond himself, had suspected it would: the vines had started to degrade and rot, but even then, they'd seemed particularly keen on staying right where they were, with some fused into and beneath his skin...

After that, though, the dust finally settled… and Vash just sort of… meandered around.

There wasn't a whole lot for him to do, really.

He would do a little visiting here and there— which led to him being fitted for a temporary prosthetic arm on Brad's insistence (grumbling about how 'he would already have his new one ready, but some snarky brat ended up shattering most of his ribs when he was trying to track him down') —and he would do whatever he could to just be… present, but the longer Vash spent away from Wolfwood's bedside, the more he worried that the undertaker might wake up without him there, so, he tended to stay within range of the med bay.

It's pretty obvious his mental state is… not doing so hot, but he isn't focusing on that. He's not really letting others right now, either.

Besides that? His time would mostly be spent sleeping. Anything else and he'd basically need to be bullied into it, including the basics like eating and bathing— he hadn't even bothered to cut his hair when it was clear he needed a haircut, but since it was easy enough to tie his hair back and out of his face at this length, that was what he did instead. Sometimes the other Sinners encouraged him to sleep in his own room, in a bed, just so he could get a decent night's sleep. Sometimes Vash even agreed… but the blond would just end up wandering back to Wolfwood's side, anyway, wrapped up in a blanket in the same chair, at the same spot at the end of the bed.

And one of those times just so happened to land on his birthday.

The Plant basically drifted through the halls like a ghost, like any other day; blanket wrapped around his shoulders and eyes blearly and unfocused from his weak attempt to get some sleep somewhere that wasn't Wolfwood's bedside. He approached the doors to the med bay, and they whooshed open to allow him access… and immediately the energy was different. Agitated. Vash blinked in surprise, lifting his head.

"Hey, is everything—?" he started to ask, but his eyes near-instantly fell upon Wolfwood, which answered the question before he could finish it and wrung out what was left of it as a short gasp. The blanket slipped from his shoulders and pooled behind him on the floor as he moved forward and took up a spot at the undertaker's bedside, his eyes stuck to the crown of his broken Plant markings, their light pulsing beneath his skin.

Absently, he reached out and touched the other man's face, throwing a glance to one of the doctors close by— "w-when did this start…?"

Wolfwood's eyes drift from Vash to Luida, and he nods weakly in response. The barest hint of a smile lifts a corner of his mouth before his eyelids finally lower to a close. There's still so much that he wants to tell Vash, so many words he wants to share—he wants to reach out, he wants to touch, wants to wrap Vash in his arms... he wants to celebrate, dammit.

But... the need for rest does overwhelm all other senses and desires, drowning out every other voice until all is silent. It's scary, falling unconscious. He can't look over his shoulder, he can't watch Vash's back like this, but... he just needs to have faith that Home will do that for him.

With Wolfwood stabilized, doctors do shoo Vash away to another room to get his own wounds looked at... and to get that arm looked at.

Vash has plenty of time to recover on his own, as it turns out—Wolfwood's very spirit was nearly torn to shreds in the Higher Plane, which is something that seems to heal much slower than his physical body. The limited lucidity he'd experienced immediately after recovering was quickly snuffed; after he'd fallen asleep, he stayed asleep. Nothing woke him—no amount of shuffling him between beds, changing his clothes, or poking or prodding with medical instruments (which was almost always supervised by a wary Independent who was too aware of both Wolfwood's apprehension of medical procedures and doctors' seeming fascinations with him) would so much as draw a groan from him.

Weeks passed, then two months passed.

No day was particularly different from the next as far as Wolfwood's health was concerned. The doctors aren't too sure what to look for—what will signify Wolfwood's awakening? When Vash touches him and holds his hand, his heart seems to beat faster, but other than that...

Well—

A special sort of day arrives on everyone's calendars:

July 21st. Vash's birthday. Wolfwood still sleeps, as pleasant of a birthday gift his consciousness would be for the timeless Plant. But... when Vash comes to visit him, the doctors appear to be stirred. They're excited, but confused—it seems a new sign of life has manifested from the sleeping undertaker: a crown of silver markings fading in and out, as if he's attempting to... connect to something, or someone.

The doctors contact Vash as soon as they notice it happen. If anyone's going to know what's going on with Wolfwood, it's him.

[orangetintedglasses]

The wiggling finger did make him laugh a little— a puff of a noise from the back of his throat as he moved to get out of the way, and touched whatever spot he could reach… which would end up being Wolfwood's knee, giving it a light squeeze.

"Don't worry about me, yeah…?" Vash finally managed to muster up that smile the undertaker wanted. It was a little tight and screwed up from pain, but it was still warm and genuine, and looked like it belonged on his face even with the dried blood flaking off of his upper lip. "I'll be fine. Get some rest… I'll be right here when you wake up."

"—after we get him bandaged up, as well." Luida added, wearing an expression with furrowed brows and soft, concerned eyes that had a bit of an edge to them. It was a look that the blond was pretty familiar with; a look that, generally, meant 'you are not getting out of being looked after, young man' despite any protest he might have had against it. He just laughed a little sheepishly, and conceded with a nod— there wasn't really anything he could do about it once she got that look on her face… and besides, what protest could he really offer her now, looking the way that he did?

… and… well. There were… other factors to consider, too, after everything…

"He'll be looked after while you're asleep, Nicholas; I'll see to it myself." she returned her attention to Wolfwood, a knowing, wry smile finding its way onto her face, "and I'm sure the second I take my eyes off him, he'll end up right back in here, anyway, so we'll know where to find him if he wanders off."

All of Wolfwood's noises of protest are muffled by the dressing of cold, all save for one exclaimed:

"Feathers?!"

His voice is still little more than a whisper, even at the level of surprise he expresses. He immediately regrets speaking up; with a hiss Wolfwood crumples again in the tech's grasp. There's a groan, and then the energy he gathered dissipates as soon as it arrived.

"Ugh..."

The tech rolls Wolfwood back in place carefully, ensuring that his pillows are comfortable for him. His weight shifts unnaturally, like he's returning to the lifeless state he was in before.

"I... I'll assume that they'll go away on their own... or..." They trail off, shaking their head. It's a bit beyond someone who specializes in human medicine to expect them to understand something so... supernatural. Perhaps it'd be more helpful for someone with Plant expertise to look at it. "He's going to need a lot of rest now. His body is immensely fatigued."

And they're right—even now, Wolfwood can feel his body giving into the temptation of sleep. He wants to stay here with Vash... but... he's so tired.

He wiggles a finger towards Vash, subtly wishing for his touch. Unfortunately, the proximity of the doctors is getting in the way of that.

"Nnn... tired..."

"We can keep you alive from here," the tech in the back speaks soothingly, "You can sleep now."

Wolfwood's eyes glint from behind the dressing, as though he's looking at Vash for permission. He wants to make sure that Vash is okay before passing out.

"... You'll be okay...?"

[orangetintedglasses]

Hearing Wolfwood talk to him like that along with the confirmation that he was going to be okay just brought a fresh rush of tears to the blond's eyes, despite the undertaker's weak insistence that he should be happy, smiling even. But the dam had already broken once; it took everything— absolutely everything —Vash had left in him to steel himself against the flood of emotion that threatened to reduce him to nothing but a heap at the end of the bed, clutching the little metal railing and sobbing with relief and anguish in equal parts.

No, he… he had to be stronger than that. He'd even try to smile, but the effort of moving the muscles there just made the bruised and broken bits of his face sting in active protest.

Then, they found the feather.

Or rather, one of the feathers. That wasn't the surprising part; Vash might've not been in Wolfwood's body anymore, but it hadn't been that long ago that he was, and they were probably just stuck in… hair follicles or pores, o-or… or something. He'd expected them to have fallen out or dissolved or whatever by now, but that wasn't the issue. The issue presented itself when the techs rolled him over and exposed that patch of shiny, sleek plumage over his shoulder blade, like a base— a plateau for a wing—

Luida approached to get a better look, and gasped in that same, shocked manner the techs themselves had. Vash was the only one whose reaction was more subdued: quiet as he stepped closer and reached out to brush the tips of feather-light fingers (ha-ha) over the plumage. When he did, he could almost feel the same sensation over his own back and shoulder, but he pushed down the thought and swallowed past the sudden hiss that tried to breach the barrier of his lips and teeth.

... the blond almost found himself asking Wolfwood if it hurt. He caught himself, though, thankfully— that would have been a really, really stupid question right now—

"These aren't related to the serum or his injuries." Vash said. And while he'd managed to shake enough of the tremble from his voice to be able to explain without the thick warble of tears clotting his throat, he was also keenly aware that that explanation… wasn't going to be particularly satisfying or reassuring. "I can explain better once the dust settles a little more, but they aren't— just— th-they're there because of me, so..."

Wolfwood's eyes sparkle dully; a dizzying haze still coats his mind even after such a shocking wake-up call. He nearly felt his soul leave his body, he swears it.

His eyes track Vash's tears, watching as a glob of them flings itself from his lashes. He can't help himself as he scoffs lightly.

"Don't cry, Spikey," Wolfwood's voice croaks from behind the breathing apparatus. If he were entirely present, he'd reach out and take Vash's chin in his hand... maybe he'd even kiss him. Alas, there are a lot of factors preventing that particular situation at the moment. "You did it. Y'should smile now. I missed that smile—the real one."

The undertaker speaks slowly. Each word is hard on its own to get out of his lungs.

"This might be uncomfortable, Mr. Wolfwood. Apologies," the broader tech speaks up, then cradles his head in a swaddle of ice packs and cold towels. Wolfwood merely responds with a groan as his vision is reduced to a small crevice with no peripheral.

The other tech takes Wolfwood's hand in theirs and feels his pulse with their own fingers, as if they don't trust the advanced technology that displays Wolfwood's heartrate setting itself to its regular BPM, if not just a little slower.

"He's going to be okay," they announce quietly with a slight smile... which subtly shifts to a soft grimace once they eye the single vial still resting against Wolfwood's chest. "Barring any other interference from this... drug... anyway."

...

No one knows exactly what he went through. What both of them went through. Not only does his body need to physically heal, his very soul needs to heal as well. It's been through hell just to get back.

Suddenly, the softer tech's eyes lock onto a... piece of debris stuck in the collar of Wolfwood's shirt, which is open almost to his shoulders. It's pitch black and smooth—like a...

"Is that a feather?" They blurt out, attempting to pluck it from the ruffles of their patient's shirt, but—

"Oh—oh, it's... it's still attached—"

They move the shirt back further and roll Wolfwood over enough to see the back of his shoulder. Sure enough, a patch of sleek, oil-slick feathers cover his skin. The tech can only openly gasp at the sight. Wolfwood can only grumble in response, unable to force more words out, especially after being shoved around (carefully).

Unsure what more to say, they move out of the way slightly while still supporting theman to allow Vash and Luida a better look at the newest 'scar' on Wolfwood's body.

[orangetintedglasses]

Vash wouldn't hold the tech's blunt almost-statement against him… mostly due to the fact that he was only barely listening. He heard and processed just enough to know that Wolfwood was critical— potentially stabilizing, yes, but from a condition that, were it anyone else in his position, would have left them no time for last words or goodbyes.

… though, for all the poor techs knew, that was all this window of time could be granting them.

But the blond just watched in silence, big, fat tears gathering on his lashes the entire time. The undertaker looked… awful, and every time Vash's eyes finished wandering the circuit of his prone form, he found some new detail that made his heart climb ever higher up into his throat. The way the too-harsh lighting made the planes of his face cast deeper, darker shadows than normal. How the lack of flush to his face was giving him a more pallid, sickly pallor that made Vash's stomach churn…

… and yet the silvery round pin scar still contrasted against it like it was trying to get his attention. Vash could feel it on his own body the longer he started, a perfect mirror… his own vines piercing through and wriggling beneath his—

—!!

Something touched his hand and— mercifully —interrupted that line of vivid recollection. Luida had taken it upon herself to clasp their hands together while she was idly talking to the med techs, taking Vash's flesh and blood hand in her own and squeezing, likely having noticed the way the blond was drifting further and further into his own head. He squeezed back weakly, appreciative of the gesture… but he couldn't bring himself to tear his eyes away from Wolfwood, brows shooting up in surprise as the other's gaze locked onto him— as he gasped his name behind the barrier of the foggy oxygen mask strapped to his face.

He moved without thinking, then.

Not… not forcefully, though, not in a rush that could potentially disturb the med techs, who still needed room to work, so Vash wouldn't go much further than the foot of the bed. It wasn't close enough, but somehow, he was able to contain himself, even when those tears were finally knocked loose and sent tumbling down his cheeks as he blinked rapidly.

"It's me—" was all the blond could think to say at first, his voice shaking like a little wooden church in a windstorm. "I'm here, I'm— I'm me this time—"

Though Vash managed to make quite a fuss outside of the medical ward, Wolfwood couldn't hear any of it. Quickly after stabilizing his breathing, he fell asleep... and judging by how drained his body was of almost every life-giving element, the staff can only assume it's a deep sleep.

"Still critical... but..."

The techs both look at each other knowingly. Any normal person, and they'd likely be dead in Wolfwood's condition. Someone as... non-human as him is unpredictable, to say the least.

"Physically, he's completely healed... but the strain on his organs is immense. His liver will be lucky to come out of this unscathed... o-or... I guess it's not really luck, is it..."

"We don't know enough—frankly, someone under this much duress in normal conditions would... well, he shouldn't be ali—"

The second tech finally speaks up, but interrupts himself as he turns around and sees the sorry state that Vash is in. He visibly backtracks, lips shifting into an 'oh'. It's more than apparent that he regrets speaking up after so long. Now feeling awkward, he turns back around, seemingly preparing some ice packs to cool Wolfwood's body after they shock him—especially around his head. While the man can naturally heal any damage caused by a heart attack—assuming he survives the attack—no one wants to test how quickly he heals brain damage.

Seeing their coworker bow out of the social situation, the more polite tech takes over.

"We'll cool his body temperature down to prevent the damage that we can, but it... does seem like his heart is calming down. He's going to need... a lot of rest. Just on a cursory glance, he's... severely injured."

"Can't let him sleep for long, we have to shock him—is he ready?"

"Y-yeah. Administering shock—"

The techs focus on one device that they attached to Wolfwood's chest. With a whir and an impact noise, the undertaker grunts an excruciating noise of pain and his eyes jolt open. In a panic, his breathing is rapid and shallow. It seems they only needed one shock to get his heart back to a steady pace, but the techs still stay on guard due to the drug that's in his body. There's no telling how it will make his body react...

Wolfwood looks about the room wildly, attempting to raise his arms to attack the techs but failing (thankfully). His arms don't move the way he wants them to, and the frustration shows on his face as he glares at the IV in his arm before connecting the dots.

He's here... he's barely here, but...

His eyes look at Luida, then lock on Vash. Even from behind the breathing mask, it's more than audible when he gasps:

"Vash?"

[orangetintedglasses]

Someone chuckled at the attempt at rebuttal, wholly amused at the strange, stubborn half-measure Wolfwood took towards making sure he was able to grumble at them for something when he'd just stopped breathing without help seconds before. It… was a good sign, at least; Wolfwood was not out of the woods by any measure of the word— his heart rate was improving, but they needed to check the rest of his vitals before they could officially clear him as stable, which meant drawing blood and clipping and sticking things to him and many, many other little necessary tasks for tests they knew he'd hate —but the fact that he was able to respond like that at all meant something.

… whether or not that stayed the case, though, remained to be seen. Even if he just stagnated here for a little while would be more than fine, so long as his condition didn't get any worse— but they were watching him. Taking care of him to the best of their ability, even if it meant hooking him up to a few machines. He was safe. That was what mattered right now.

Vash, meanwhile, was dealing with his own set of problems, as being genuinely barred from going and making sure Wolfwood was okay was doing absolutely nothing for his own anxieties. It felt almost… childish, the way he argued against the insistence for him to move elsewhere, to isolate— and when it came down for them to try and force him to go, that was when things started going downhill.

Lights all over the ship flickered and brightened; overloading with the energy that the agitated Independent was exuding from his very being as he was repeatedly told that this was just for safety. Any other time— any other day —and Vash would have been receptive to that, and everyone, including him, knew it; he would have been more than happy to concede to the insistence for the sake of everyone else on the ship… but today, his nerves were frayed. His heart was in his throat, beating a mile a minute. He couldn't calm down enough to listen to reason—

Then, the overhead lights in that hallway burst, and that snapped him out of his fugue. And after a litany of tearful apologies where he wiped at his eyes with his hands like a child, and his whole body was shaking so badly that he couldn't keep himself upright and sunk to his knees… Luida conceded. Apologized… and escorted her blubbering mess of a charge herself, so his presence wouldn't scare the medical staff as he was brought in.

… they were still a little scared… but Luida's presence was reassuring. And while Vash was too busy prying his eyes over every inch of the prone undertaker, she asked— "how is he…?"

No! That's Vash! Let him come with!

Wolfwood wants to scream—he wants to yell and shout and cry out but every effort is suffocated by the pulsating convulsions on his chest. He can feel his ribs straining with the effort being put into each press, and while he's certain that the medical staff knows what they're doing, he can't help but fear death is right around the corner.

I can't die now, not when I'm so close...

He knows that if he dies here, Vash will never forgive himself. So... it's simple—he can't die. He won't die.

But...

His consciousness is fading against his will. Though he can feel his heart slow itself down, the pain in his body is too much to bear. Every ache is replaced by a wildfire of pain as his nerves light back up. No human is meant to endure this much suffering.

Which is why Wolfwood had gone through so much rigorous testing during his adolescence—to ensure that he could endure it. And if he couldn't, they'd resurrect him again and again until he could handle it.

He's gotten soft after such a long time without pain.

The world around him is black and murky, like he's surrounded in mud. There's a pinch in his wrist, and the cool sensation of fluid; then there's the finality of a mattress firmly beneath him. His clothes feel tacky against his skin. It's good that he can feel something like that, isn't it?

There are voices on either side of him—the medical team members that took him away. They're focused on hooking him up to... so many devices, he can already tell this is going to be a pain in his ass.

They mumble something and grab at the holster still tight on his chest, unbuckling it.

'... only one serum left...' the voice cuts into Wolfwood's clouded mind, somehow audible over the beat of his own heart, '... in these, anyway? Are these healthy...?'

The mumbling fades away. All Wolfwood can hear is the unsteady, slow beat of the heart monitor he's now attached to. He can feel the tension in the air brewing from the doctors' anxieties. The very concept of breathing suddenly feels like too much effort, so he—without thinking, really—stops.

'Oh—oh no you don't,' one of the doctors notices immediately, and places a mask on his face. The edges dig into a triangular section of his cheeks and nose. It's uncomfortable, but... it does keep him breathing. 'I know you're tired, but you have to keep breathing.'

"Mmgh..."

'Stubborn guy, but that's why you're gonna live, aren't you Mr. Wolfwood?'

"... ggh..."

[orangetintedglasses]

If anyone had heard Wolfwood's attempts to diffuse the situation, they didn't make it known— the two medical staff were already examining him to determine just what exactly was happening to the young undertaker, so they could begin work on a treatment once they arrived at their destination.

… not that it would take them long at all to determine that the main problem they would need to deal with was his heart— "heart rate fluctuating wildly. Need to make sure there's blood flowing to his lungs and brain, then we can get him moving."

The taller of the two nodded, and placed two large hands on top of Wolfwood's chest; immediately starting a string of rapid chest compressions that would hopefully do something, even if they were more than likely going to be painful. CPR was about the only thing they could administer here and now just to try and mitigate some of the damage—

Vash stepped forward, aiming to all but glue himself to the end of the stretcher and offer what help he could, but Luida stepped further into his path. Despite his urgency and panic, he didn't try to move her— going so far as to back up a step so he wasn't invading as much of her space.

"Let them handle it." she urged, but there was no gentle, matronly comfort to the words she spoke; she was exercising her authority, and in the chaos of the moment, Vash didn't really know why.

"I-I'm not—" he blustered, his attention splitting between the obstacle of his guardian, the ailing undertaker and the people tending to him… and slow spider-creep of new presences coming up from behind. The blond threw a look over his shoulder and saw that the members of the security team they'd passed on the way here were now slowly approaching, looking just as uneasy at the rest of the people around him right now.

—!!

But his attention was torn away from the slow-building tension as the wheels of the stretcher were unlocked, indicating the intent to move Wolfwood out of here and get him to the med bay. Vash went to move, to follow them, but again, Luida made her presence firmly known.

"The last thing we heard from Nicholas was that you weren't the real Vash. His line of communication was cut in the middle of what he was trying to say… and now, here you are, delivering him to us in this condition." she explained, all but confirming Wolfwood's theory that that had been the last bit of information they received... which was now biting both of them in the ass. Vash could see two very clear conflicting emotions warring behind her eyes— like she wasn't happy to be getting in Vash's way, if the man standing before her was the real Vash… but she knew she couldn't take the risk, and couldn't fully trust the person in front of her. Which was... more than fair, on some level Vash wasn't really registering right now.

Were his primary focus not staying by Wolfwood's side, he might even feel some type of way about that— "Luida—"

"Take Nicholas to the med bay, and do whatever you have to in order to stabilize him." she raised her voice above the volume of their conversation, instructing the two people hovering over Wolfwood; one of the last things the undertaker would hear before he was being briskly moved, whisked away—

"I'm sorry, but we can't let you freely walk the ship until we can be sure you aren't who he warned us about."

There are so many things Wolfwood wants to say to Vash's apologies—most of which involve a thoughtful smack upside the head—but his mouth feels like it's full of cotton. Mostly... he thinks he just wants Vash to know it's okay. He did the right thing—did the best thing. If he wasn't alive, then what other option did he have?

Instead, he groans, his hand loosely trying to grab for Vash as he's taken away. Wolfwood doesn't want to leave Vash... they'd... they'd just reunited...

"Nn... no..."

Unable to grip, his hand is unfortunately taken away from Vash's arm and rejoined with the rest of his body on the stretcher. It's strange—the hand feels... new. It must've taken a pretty bad hit.

"S... stay..." he mumbles, praying Vash can hear him. Praying that anyone can hear him, considering he'd warned Luida about the impostor and... that might have been the last thing they learned about the situation. "V-Vash... that's... that's him."

The words hurt to croak out, physically and emotionally. He hates that he didn't notice the impostor sooner, hates that he even slept with him, and Vash was never in that body... All of the memories from the past week seem to tumble in his mind like a car crash, and make his head hurt just as bad as one.

Wolfwood groans again, feeling his throat tighten and his heart beat erratically.

If... if it really is the end... then they better at least let Vash be there for him...

[orangetintedglasses]

What few people lingered in the hallways were definitely taking notice of them— likely security detail or something, he didn't know, he wasn't looking that hard —and thankfully, those people had the ability to get in contact with people who could help. They touched their fingers to earpieces, swiped messages to send through their devices… the sight brought some amount of relief to the panicking Plant—

"What…?"

It took Vash more than a second or two to fully process what Wolfwood was saying, but once he understood, a fresh wave of guilt hit him like a brick wall. His throat tightened in that way that promised tears, and he tried to swallow around it, but Vash's next few words came out in a clotted, wet rush, "I know— I-I know, I'm sorry— I'm so sorry—!"

There was more he could say about it. Like how he hadn't known what else to do when Wolfwood's heart wasn't beating; how he did remember what the undertaker had said about the second one having a kick, and to only take one if he absolutely had to— which he did have to. But even just the thought of saying more threatened to shatter what little composure he had remaining, so Vash just shook his head. He could explain later.

He would explain later.

"I'm sorry, Wolfwood. I'm sorry for everything—"

"Vash…!"

Luida's voice threw a wrench in the furiously spinning wheels inside his head, right as he turned the corner. The remaining momentum left in his sudden, jarring stop was nearly enough to send him crashing into his guardian and the entourage of people she had with her— some of them wearing medical garb. That was good, good, they could— the relief of seeing his guardian nearly took him out at the knees. "Luida…! Luida, please— he needs—!!"

As he re-solidified his foot, Vash moved to take a step forward… which made quite a few members of the crowd step back. The blond blinked in surprised, scanning over the small sea of people… and noticed that they were looking at him with what seemed like fear; the collective unease hanging around them all like looming storm clouds—

That doesn't matter right now…!

"… Wolfwood." he said, doing one last scan of the crowd before settling back on Luida, plaintive and pleading with her to just— "Please. Please, he's hurt, he needs help—"

"I— I understand, Vash, we'll take him…" the matron said, and tore her lingering gaze away from the duo to nod at someone over her shoulder. The small sea of people parted to allow a stretcher to come through, and two of the medical personnel spared no time as they took Wolfwood from Vash's arms and loaded him on—

It's hard surviving. It's hard dying and being on death's door, but it's even harder to survive—and, God, it hurts like hell. His heart is beating too fast for it to be anything other than cardiac arrest, but he's going to survive, dammit!

Wolfwood's eyes crack open, and he sees the blurry smudge of a panicked Vash. All of the jostling around hurts, but not nearly as much as the pain his heart is going through.

(It's funny, even as it struggles, he can feel his chest well up with warmth just being in Vash's arms again. He must be delirious.)

"Three..."

He winces, scrunching his face with pain and hissing through his teeth before continuing.

"Three is... a lot..." Wolfwood forces out vaguely, referring to the tang of the serum still coating his tongue. It's already taken hold, so it's too late for him to attempt to throw up, like it's poison... which it probably is for any normal individual. Blood trickles from his nose, causing him to sniffle and cough again as he winces at hearing Vash's shouts. Every noise feels like too much right now. "But... but I'll... be..."

Okay.

He wants to finish his sentence, but the word dies on his tongue. Words... feel heavy. Everything feels heavy.

Instead, all he can really do is groan as his eyes roll back and shut again. His quiet, shallow, and staggered breaths hardly allow for any valuable oxygen in his lungs. Wolfwood wishes he could reach into his chest and tear out his heart to get it to shut up—it's not helping his anxiety.

"... good job... V'sh... w'did it..."

[orangetintedglasses]

… for what felt like a long, long time… nothing happened.

There was no movement or life at all within the room; time itself seemed to be holding its breath with Vash as he finally pried himself away from the other body with wide, watery eyes, his gaze flicking around between all the different points of interest on Wolfwood's face— eyes, brows, mouth, nose and back again —in search of some kind of movement. Any movement. Any flutter of muscle that signaled the returned of life as he brought his hand up to cup the man's jaw.

No… please no, no, nononono—

Then, Wolfwood coughed. A rough, weak sound that brought blood seeping out to coat his lips, b-but— but it was something, and that something managed to sound an awful lot like the Independent's name—

Vash's eyes widened even more, the size of dinner plates as he responded to the call in a rush of breath— "Wolfwood…?"

Was he alive? Was he actually alive, or was this some kind of… last hurrah? The undertaker sounded awful— he looked awful, his complexion so pallid that it was nearly gray, blood dripping from his mouth, his heart beating so wildly in his chest that Vash could feel it from where he was—

"… you did… y-you came back, you're here…" the blond said, swallowing past a rush of emotion that threatened to choke out all sound. "Hold on… l-lemme…"

Vash's body moved without him even directing it to, like his gears had all shifted to auto-pilot a few minutes ago and gotten stuck there. He moved his body back, away, shuffled just enough so that he could get Wolfwood into his arms and into a carry that had the taller man cradled against Vash's chest and middle… and once Vash was sure he had a good hold on him, the Plant took off running, his bare feet thudding fast and hard against the metal walkway and out into the hall. He didn't— he didn't have a clue where anyone was, if anyone was even around to help, but he was going to book it towards medical regardless—

"HEY…! SOMEONE, ANYONE, HELP! PLEASE—!"

He had to get Wolfwood help.

'I have to go back! I can't go with you!'

With a surge of energy, Wolfwood wrests himself free of the Dependents attempting to drag him deeper into the Plane. He feels bad slapping away innocent hands that only want to protect him, but he needs to. Slowly, one by one, they begin to cease grabbing at him, confused.

n o t . . . a l i v e

They speak as one, and Wolfwood opens his eyes with a gasp. In front of him is the body of an unfurled Dependent, her hand outstretched but her face skewed into that of a confused, concerned individual. She looks at him as though he's unwell, like he's not in the right mind to be making a decision.

It's the most expressive he's seen a Plant, outside of Vash and the Plant he'd inhabited earlier.

'Not alive?'

She looks behind her, as if she can see outside the obscured glass of the bulb—Wolfwood can't see anything beyond a haze of white fog. She then looks back at the undertaker, slightly urgent.

The Dependent shakes her head.

h e r e . . . s a f e . f o r v a s h ! a n d y o u .

They've definitely been trying to get better at communicating. Perhaps it's due to how often Wolfwood has been talking to them, or maybe they can hear when he and Vash communicate. He... kind of hopes that's not the case, though.

'What do you mean?! Vash has to be alive—he... he has to—'

m m m . . .

The dependent hums, interrupting him, but isn't sure what to say.

'Is it me? I know my body's not in great shape, but if you put me back I... I can live. I will live.'

She gives him a sorrowful look, almost as if she's hurt by his very desire to return to a body that might not sustain him for long. They could provide his soul with a sanctuary in the Higher Plane... Vash could come visit him whenever he wanted... and Vash would visit more if he were here!

The thoughts flutter into his head like butterflies. He swats them away.

'I'm not ready to die yet. I'm... I'm not ready to die or... or be stuck in some Higher Plane with visiting rights. I want to live. I want to live with Vash, and protect him. I want to spend what little time I have as a human with him. A-and if it turns out that... that my body can't handle this... it doesn't matter.'

She looks behind her again and seems to react to something. She's... concerned. Perhaps she can see Vash, maybe Vash is crying or—or mourning him—he... he needs to go back...

'I promised. Just like how Vash promises to look after all of you, I need to look after him out there.'

He tries to project the concept of Vash touching his forehead to the glass of the bulb, tries showing her that whenever he does that it's... a promise. He tries to show a memory of he and Vash bumping their foreheads together in a similar manner, but his form is... missing. It's still engulfed in shadow.

Frustrated, Wolfwood tries to remember the last time he'd patched Vash up after a shootout. He tries to remember the last time he'd protected Vash during a shootout.

b e l o v e d . . .

The dependent reaches out with her long, fragile fingers, offering him a hand. A connection.

n o t m u c h t i m e .

'I... I know. I'll make the most of it.'

. . . w e l c o m e h e r e ! a l w a y s .

'M... maybe I'll take you up on your offer when my time comes. We humans don't really have control over that, though.'

. . . l o v e d e a r b r o t h e r . p r o t e c t . m m m . . .

She releases a thoughtful, high pitched hum again, trying to think of the right word that Wolfwood would understand.

. . . s o m e t i m e s . s i l l y ?

Wolfwood chuckles, unsure if she's remarking that sometimes Vash is silly or that they should be silly sometimes. Both are true. The Dependent grabs the air between them once, urging him to reach out. Nervous, he takes the offer, his fingers curling around just one of her massive digits.

'I will love him. Even when he's silly. I promise.'

This satisfies her. The rest of her hand fully encompasses Wolfwood's, and just like that, he loses consciousness... or whatever this existence in between is called.

†††

Everything hurts. His heart is beating too fast. He's cold—as cold as a corpse. Maybe... maybe he was a corpse?

"V... Vsh..."

Wolfwood coughs weakly, the sound barely escaping his chapped, broken lips. It has to fight through a wave of blood to even be heard... blood that quickly dribbles from the corner of his mouth and down his neck. The Plant markings that had been resonating with the bulb Vash put him next to flicker off—it's as if his very biology is telling them 'no more miracles.'

He needs medical attention, or he'll die... again. The... the ship has medical staff... right? He's... he's on the ship, right?

"C... came back... m'back... p... promised..."

[orangetintedglasses]

no birthday celebrations for the poor plant?

( I MEAN HE WAS A LITTLE PREOCCUPIED AT THE TIME........... )

[orangetintedglasses]

@forgivenpunishment // don't let me go

Vash's ears were ringing when he woke up.

This new bout of consciousness came with a string of aches and pains that he knew were, technically, majorly, his own handiwork. But that was a good thing— these were his aches and pains, and the fact that he was feeling them at all meant that he was officially back in his own body, safe and sound. So, he quickly took stock of them.

The worst of it (of course) seemed to be in his head and face; teeth on one side of his head felt loose and awkward. His left eye was swollen, and while he couldn't tell to what degree, it refused to open up as widely as the right one did when he blinked. Pieces of bone were floating freely somewhere along the bridge of his nose, and blood coated his lip where it had been allowed to flow; still fresh and wet, but starting to cool. If Vash thought about it hard enough, he could vaguely recall the feeling of it own nose all but shattering beneath the impact of Wolfwood's knuckles—

Wolfwood…!

Reality pushed through, then, and a sense of dreadful urgency sunk its teeth into the forefront of his mind. Vash pushed himself up into a sitting position with both hands and realized that Wolfwood was on top of him, his body limp and heavy and eerily unmoving as he reached out and—

—?!

—saw gnarled, inhuman fingers touch the side of his companion's head. His doppelganger's replacement arm… b-but there wasn't time to worry about that right now—

He switched to his other hand, the one made of flesh and bone, and turned Wolfwood's head so he could try and get a glimpse of it in the dim lighting. His skin was… pallid, and his eyes were closed. His expression was… peaceful, almost as if he were sleeping— almost as if Vash moved his fingers to rest at his pulse point there would be a strong, steady heartbeat thudding beneath them and everything would be okay, because Wolfwood was just sleeping, and Vash just needed to wait for him to wake up.

Two trembling fingers rolled over the seam of muscle in his neck…

Vash didn't hear the shuffering gasp that tore from his throat. Didn't feel the way he yanked his own hand back like he'd been burned by the feeling of stone cold stillness beneath the pads of his fingers; panic and urgency had sent all thought and reason fleeing from his mind like Worms from a burning next, and they pushed him to action. He wriggled and freed himself from beneath the body of the undertaker and pulled him up with him as he rose to his feet— close to his own body so he could support his weight as he dragged both of them over to the nearest tank. The red Plant tank.

Unsteady legs got caught on the short staircase and sent them plummeting down, wrenching a yelp from the blond, but that was fine. It was absolutely fine— Vash just grit his teeth and dragged them the rest of the distance so he could prop Wolfwood's lifeless form up against the glass, where the body of the Dependent was still close enough to touch and form that physical connection.

Then, he went digging for a vial.

"Please…" the blond whispered, though he didn't really notice himself talking. His heart felt like it was in his throat— a far cry from the lifelessness of Wolfwood's own— which he was hoping that the dose of serum could fix— "please, Wolfwood, please—"

For the third time today, Vash cracked the thin neck of a vial between his teeth and dumped the contents into his mouth; he didn't swallow, but he still gagged, the memory of the taste and feel of it still pretty thoroughly burned into his memory. His markings ignited, pulsed as if seeking resonance, as pulled himself closer and tilted Wolfwood's head back as much as he could without disturbing (what he hopes is) the physical connection between Wolfwood and the Dependent. With a shaking hand, he pried dry lips apart with his thumb, and pressed their faces together, sealing their lips as tightly as he could— though he did feel a trickle of the serum drip down his chin.

Please. Please please please— I've got you, Wolfwood, I'm right here—!!

[orangetintedglasses]

And just like that, Vash disappears.

It's about as bad as Wolfwood feared—almost as soon as Vash is gone, he can feel pieces of his very essence being torn away like paper. He's alone in here; he lacks the connection to the Dependents that Vash has… which is strange considering… isn't he technically inhabiting one right now? Or does he not even have the strength to do that as a human?

What is he?

That anxiety alone feels as if it unravels a full spindle of his soul, and he quickly tries to gather all that he lost.

'I'm Nicholas D. Wolfwood. I have to survive. I'm a human. I have to return to Vash, I promised I would.'

He repeats this several times—out loud, he thinks, but he can't hear his own voice anymore. Could he ever hear his own voice?

What… what does it sound like again?

'I don't belong here. I have to return to Vash, I promised I would.'

This should be easy… all he needs to do is repeat that mantra to himself and ignore the siren's call of sleep. If he sleeps, he'll never wake up again (which, if he'd been in a different part of his life, would sound appealing, admittedly).

'I need to protect Vash. I promised I would come back.'

Time… isn't exactly real here. There's no easy way to tell how many minutes have passed. If he were in his body, he would want a cigarette… right? He was hooked on smoking… a bad habit with no consequences to his own body due to the modifications. The very same modifications that allowed this to be possible.

Yes… he craves a cigarette. He… can picture it now, Vash on the full-size bed behind him, his blond hair drooping into his closed eyes and his breathing as calm as a baby's. Wolfwood lingers at the window, one of those white sticks in his hand, but—

What… what does he look like again? All he sees in this memory is a shadow, the outline of broad shoulders and a narrow waist with shaggy hair on top…

'I'm Nicholas D. Wolfwood… I'm a human… I don't belong here… I… I have black hair and gray eyes… I think…'

No images come to mind. The feeling of hatred when staring at a mirror does hit him like a slap in the face, however. That's right… he woke up one day in a body that wasn't his, and was told that he would kill.

He's a killer…

Vash hates killers, doesn't he…?

No… Vash doesn't… hate anyone.

Wolfwood's hands drip blood, hiding any skin beneath them… if there is any. He's pretty sure it's just smoke or shadow enveloping his form.

Vash doesn't see him as a killer. No, 'those are the eyes of a good guy' he'd said on the first day they met. He's wrong, he's wrong he's wrong he's wrong he's wrong he's wrong—

'I'm Nicholas D. Wolfwood… I need… I need to go back. I promised.'

What begins as a poking or prodding sensation very quickly morphs into the feeling of tens of hands grabbing at what remains of his form. How's he supposed to fight the pull of so many grasping souls? The… the last time this happened, he was nearly taken away. Vash had to save him then, too. Is this all he's good for? Being a damsel in distress?

'No, you let Vash borrow your body. You came up with that idea. He's going to fight, he's going to win.'

b e l o v e d ?

Curious. All of the hands are curious. A human in the Higher Plane is unheard of. None of the Dependents have ill intent—they share a consciousness, and that consciousness is curious. Why is this human 'beloved'? What makes him different? How did he get here?

Unfortunately, the more they grab at him, the more they take away from his already degrading form, like he's sandstone in a roaring rapid. Their grasp is warm and welcoming, but terrifying—if he gives into them, he will cease to exist.

'No, my name is Nicholas D. Wolfwood. I don't belong here. I don't belong with you. I promised Vash I would go back.'

Murmurs of 'Vash' overlap those of 'Brother'.

S a f e . P r o t e c t . . .

The hands slow for a moment as the entities think, but then Wolfwood can feel himself getting pulled in. No—no! Vash's sisters might have good intentions trying to keep him safe, but there's no telling what would happen if they really did take him away. He flails, he thinks, trying to fight off the hands and watching as pieces of him fade away during his struggle.

'No—stop! I promised him I would wait here, I can't go with you, I'm a human!'

h u m a n . . . b e l o v e d h u m a n !

It feels as though he's drowning. For every hand he shakes off, another takes its place.

s a f e h e r e . . . s t a y w i t h v a s h / b r o t h e r !

The voices overlap again. They're all excited now, as if they thought of a brilliant idea, an infallible plot. Wolfwood continues to struggle, but his strength wanes…

'Please, Vash… come back…'

The thought floods his mind, as though the Dependents have connected to him—if he's here in the Higher Plane, then Vash can have him forever. They don't have to worry about human lifespans if Beloved is safe with them

'But I… I want to live. I want to walk by his side, out… out there. In the real world. I promised. Death is just something we have to accept as humans—right?'

He won't be pinned to another board, no matter how comfortable it seems this time. He won't be anyone's prized moth—never again.

'I'm trying, Vash… I promised I'd stay. I promised I'd find my way back to you. I'm trying, I'm trying…'

…

'I can't see anymore, Vash…'

b e l o v e d ! b e l o v e d !

'M… my name… I'm… I'm Beloved? N-no… that's not… no! I promised I'd come back! I promised…'

The hands finally soothe him, and he loses the will to fight them off. Slowly but surely, he feels himself being pulled… somewhere safe, somewhere warm…

'Vash—have to… have to go back. Promised…'