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👤 TRIMAX WOLFWOODDDD :3

"I don't regret tellin' him I know what he's capable of." Even if he didn't like having to say it. If anything he's said to him as of late, he hopes that's stuck out the most. Vash's intention behind the words mattered less than how the priest decided to interpret it.

"Things've been different between us for a while now." For better and worse. "Where we're at now's not too bad. He's not as pushy as he used to be with me. Lets me get away with what I shouldn't, plays along a lot more." A pause, like a moment of silence to honor the loss.

Then, softly: "But he won't lay that damn cross down."

He should have. Once he decided to marry the other Vash and settle down into a life of peace, he should have let it rust. But instead the both of them still refuse to let go of the life they had before, a world ago.

They both can't bear to lose the world they fear and know they'll return to. And isn't that exactly why they've both suffered all this time here?

If Wolfwood's lived through everything he has these last couple of years, if this Vash has done everything he could to beg him to set the Punisher to rest, what was left to convince him?

It's part of me, y'know. Always will be. I can't let it get into the wrong hands.

No, he'd been too cowardly to say then. I had your heart, once; you proved to the whole world you were beyond a weapon! It isn't a part of you, you weren't designed to kill!

Did the other Vash take up the Punisher himself once Wolfwood died? What were the vows for? What was the point behind letting the other Vash change his heart, and witness the way he chose to spare his brother; what was the point of coming home and finding love where it was waiting all along, of accepting eternal rest?

Hadn't Wolfwood earned that much?

"Aah, it's no good...! Heheh. If I keep thinkin' like this about it, I'll be moping around too much again, and Nicholas'll ask me what's on my mind. Don't wanna worry him about all that.

"He's a good guy," Vash concludes, ignoring the deep twist of distress in his stomach. A shrug: "Even if things between us'll never get back t'how they used t'be."

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@kyouufu

Funny—this look on this stranger's face, it makes Vash think…

"Hey there. This your first time getting caught in a sunshower?"

The smile turned up toward Legato's as simple as it gets; the upraised red umbrella now shielding them both an authentically kind gesture. There's not a bit of mockery in it for the tall puppeteer being dampened by the sudden ongoing drizzle. Who could find worth in ridiculing anyone being caught off-guard by circumstance?

"You headed somewhere near, or far?" Vash's head tilts. "Not in a rush anywhere, myself." The friendly smile turns into a dopey grin. "Well. Besides bein' here!"

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semi-perma plotter call!

❝ I’ll find a way to save them all — Plants, humans… and Naï. ❞

Vash the Stampede / Trigun Stampede

[ RULES ] // [ APP ] // [ STATS ]

Noman’s Land’s favorite (or “most wanted”, if you prefer) no-good do-gooder. A cowardly outlaw who’s allergic to most types of confrontation, which comes naturally as a devoted pacifist. You’d think that being both ridiculously gullible and a peerless gunslinger wouldn’t mix well, and you’d be right; though, between the two, the Humanoid Typhoon's unconditional trust in people is what often gets him into deep trouble. ...Not that he minds it one bit.

*"semi-permanent" due to the show's "final phase", Trigun Stargaze, airing next year (2026).

in the meanwhile— hitting like on this post means i'm significantly more likely to:

swing by your IMs/send a request to you on Discord for character, relationship, and plot discussions

send in bits of dialogue, actions, or texts to your muse's inbox, or otherwise @/mention you on a post

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"He's not gonna do anything like that to us—ever again. "That's what that means."

Somehow Vash manages to hang onto sounding like he's speaking with conviction. His eyebrows crash together, the indignant outrage from the other Vash still out of his understanding. Why was he in such disbelief about a conclusion wrought from a single conversation when he hadn't once tried to hold one with Bluesummers himself?

"I've killed people too; killed you, nearly killed Wolfwood," (if he were anyone else), "and then myself. Couldn't speak for weeks. Did it—It ever cross your mind he'd been in shock about what he'd done? Denial? Guilt? No one in the Abyss ever 'acts like nothing happened'—n'you know that.

"Whatever you ran from him for, all it did was tell him he wasn't worth making amends with." A beat of hurt recognition, filed away to process some other time. "Why're you're talkin' like I got Wolfwood t'tell me what happened without having t'see him?"

As if he didn't have to wash his bloodied clothes, calm his healed nerves from freshly haunted memories; that what happened in the Mists was simply relayed to him like a funny anecdote from work.

"A-And don't. Don't say he killed me 'cause of you. You don't get to take that away."

★ --;; "I watched Bluesummers rip him apart!" he blurts, frantic disbelief.

Is it still anger? How can it not be? A coward, he still hasn't spoken to the young Undertaker, but it feels as though he's the only person Vash can talk to, the only one who can ever really know. Him and Livio, both dangled in front of him, given the weight of his own sins to bear.

His breathing is uneven again, shaky with the yoke of guilt and this horrible, unseeable loneliness. "It's one thing if he hurts me-- I don't care if he hurts me! that's not what I was staying away from him for! It's all my fault, anyway!" If anything, it's deserved. He'd gladly take another sentence in the metal hole that had been his home for so many months, contorted held stock still, if it meant that would have changed anything.

"But you have one conversation with him-- after he already killed you because of me! After what would have killed Wolfwood if he were anybody else, one where he just blows it off, act's like nothing happened-- and suddenly everything is okay?!" How can it be? How can it be?

His eyes sting, the phone shaking in his grip. "That you're just tryin' to sweep it under the rug like everything's 'fine', actin' like nothing happened either-- what does that even mean?"

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Am prettie?

"For sure!" Aww. "You're lookin' nice n'cozy, too."

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Phew. Wolfwood's being less and less stubborn with him. It's a change that brings Vash relief on many levels.

"Ohoho…" His eyebrows raise playfully on his stupid face.

There're secrets beyond treating him to a nice weekend and keeping his words sweet? What, did they finally invent Marriage 3 or something?

But he doesn't tease much further than that. They're pretty close to their destination anyway, given the truck and truck owner now in sight.

"Glad t'hear it, pal. You've got this." Then, with a greeting wave, louder: "Hi there!"

It should've been an uneventful walk, but something always ends up happening, right? Wolfwood whips his head around. A frown pulls at his lips, his forehead creased as his brows furrow. They're not in Archimedes, where he would have expected this to happen.

But that man, he's seen him before, and the surprise and recognition in his eyes matches Wolfwood's own. Here? It makes his stomach turn unpleasantly. They met once before, and it wasn't under good circumstances. He wishes he could forget about it.

He doesn't say anything because there's nothing to say. Wolfwood just watches Nathaniel scoop up the girl and run off, then turns back in the direction of his destination.

The subject is steered towards something more pleasant anyway. It keeps his mind away from those awful memories.

"Anniversary's on a Sunday, so I'm takin' him out for the weekend," he responds. "There's things I wanna say to him then. Been waitin' for the right moment."

Wolfwood scratches his chin. "Everything else is a secret, though."

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"What?" Why would the other Vash say that? Then, dazed with confusion: "Why… Why d'you think I'm doing any of this?"

The younger Stampede takes a heartbeat's worth of hesitation. It's a lie he can take back right now; of course Bluesummers had mentioned the other Vash. But even so, it was the younger Stampede's responsibility to shield him from that truth.

What good could possibly come out of it? Of being told the two of them shared the same lifeless eyes during their final showdown? What good would come from saying the way he talked reminded me so much of you?

It's a sentiment that wouldn't feel out of place coming out of the elder Knives' mouth—I suppose it didn't matter that much to you, either, then. But for the other Vash to accuse him of being uncaring, and of him and Nicholas out of all people…

"How could you think that of me?" Vash has to grip at his phone with both hands. He should hang up. He should hang up now, spare his predecessor the sound of his own voice turned pitiful with shock and hurt.

"No matter how much I was tryin' to talk things out with you, tell you I wouldn't leave you alone to face him, you would've kept running. You—you told me you were runnin' from him. And you did.

"Was I s'posed t'just… Watch it all get worse, for all of you?"

★ --;; That an 'accident' is blown off so casually, despite its nasty conclusion, only serves to wind him up further. Careless, is what it is, says the hypocrite; though he knows that argument will get him nowhere. With the amount of times he's thrown himself into places he probably shouldn't-- but at least in ( nearly ) all of those cases, he'd gone in with the intent to not die with more important jobs to reach the conclusion of. The other setting the precedent now only serves to make his skin crawl.

Being told the Undertaker shared what happened isn't surprising, either. It does, though, add to the horrible feeling, hot and rotten, in his chest, in his veins. That he hasn't been and isn't now being yelled at about it, that they aren't angry with him. It feels wrong, feels worse than if they just would, already. They should. They have more than every right to be furious with him.

"He..." And... how-- how to even feel? Knowing that Bluesummers was 'disinterested'? That what he had done-- that it mattered so little to him-- all that blood, begging and pleading--

"... So he didn't care." It sounds-- hollow. Removed from himself, from the horrible amalgamation twisting inside of him. "About what he did to-- about what I-- Like it didn't even matter?"

He should be--- grateful, shouldn't he? That Bluesummers wasn't 'interested' in him any more? That this nightmare that had plagued him, had nipped so diligently at his heels for years-- that it didn't mean anything?

... Is he horrible, for thinking this way? For hunting, pursuing, ending, grieving-- though not, entirely, for the man himself. For being-- angry? Is that what it is?

So when that anger starts to catch up to him, starts to fill in the empty outline of himself, it's impossible to take back the sharpness in his tone when he says; "I suppose it didn't matter that much to you, either, then."

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Vash lets him say his piece. Even if there's a disagreeable beginning to it—does Wolfwood really think that he's not rough enough on himself? Vash makes a little unhappy noise at that in protest, but focuses more on the physicality of the moment, the careful attention he wants to pay the undertaker.

Words don't feel like enough, and besides, he's just going to say something stupid, anyway. He waits until Wolfwood decides he's had his fill of face-smushing against the Stampede's shoulder.

Despite carefully crafted demeanors, Wolfwood's the honest one between them, allowing himself the vulnerability of weight against Vash. Vash wants bare contact, wants his fingers to reassure and thread through wet hair. But right now, that's too greedy; it isn't for him to take here, even when he's been offered that much again and again.

Even though there's not much to dry off, the towel acts as a soft conduit for more direct touch. It's a careful balance between acknowledging freshly-healed wounds of his body, and letting Nicholas towel the rest of himself off so that he doesn't feel like some helpless thing. What a pity. Vash would have liked to tend to those wounds himself, the way Wolfwood had taken care of him during the brutal release of amnesiac self-sacrifice.

—

The later clatter of his spoon accidentally flung against the dining room floor is uncharacteristic of the dexterous Typhoon, who mutters an equally rare curse under his breath as he moves to fetch it.

"I've got it," he says even before he's left his seat, the other hand not reaching for the silverware partly held up in a halting gesture. It's the most he's said during dinner so far, so caught up in the nagging thought that he shouldn't even be here, doing this.

How unfair it must be, to seek comfort from someone who isn't qualified to provide it. Yet another case where the wrong Vash is sitting where he shouldn't be—he can't commiserate about the enduring personal vendetta unleashed by the puppeteer, nor is he shameless enough to start preaching about the rapport he's supposedly built up with Bluesummers over a single meal.

When Vash returns to his seat he's a little too preoccupied with cleaning his metal spoon off with a napkin, hesitant to allow himself to eat this meal now with Wolfwood. His head hangs in pretended focus on it.

…Wolfwood can tell, can see right through all this overthinking. It's obvious. And it isn't hard to bet that it hurts Wolfwood not to meet that honesty, despite deliberately accepting the shift in their relationship to something this intimate. But even without opening his stupid mouth, he knows he's let Wolfwood down.

Maybe I love you wrong after all, Vash thinks. In this way that throws you under the bus, that Vash is too incompetent to love him in a foundational way that keeps him safe and makes him happy.

"Honestly, not sure 'm rough enough on myself." He finally stands up, rubbing the shoulder that was pressed against the side of the tub, leaning forward into the towel, and into Vash. He's mostly dry from the heat coming off his body evaporating a lot of the water, but he doesn't care. The idea of the towel, and subsequent comfort of it against him, a passage from water to air, is enough to make him stand in it, and then push forward.

He feels pathetic. But he is hungry. And he wants a hug, too.

"'ppreicate you being careful," he starts, with the towel held closer to him, the way he's been allowed to lead. And if he's being honest, he doesn't want to be touched, or held, or poked or prodded. With a singular exception who won't poke and prod him, whose shoulder he rubs a stubbled cheek against, brow furrowed as he exhales.

"But it's fine. 's good. A relaxin' night, yeah? Jus' gotta clean up, get somethin' t' eat, and we can just, be together." It's part it it for him, being Home.

At least he's clean now, he thinks. Not covered in blood and stink and grime. Not the taste of medicine against his lips, not the acrid iron of blood, or the salty copper of his spinal fluid, leaking from his nose, ripped from his body, a last thing to smell and taste before his sense of smell left him. It wasn't new, he'd experienced it before. Vision blurs, tinnitus in both ears, eyes sting and tear up, things start to fade...

Spinal fluid smells. It tastes acrid. It moves into your face and mouth and smothers you while you're already choking on the blood from your injury.

He's glad he smells clean.

He hopes he smells clean enough.

"I think 'm alright. Like you said, I'm here. Home, now." The now has some measure of finality, his face pressed into Vash's shoulder.

"...n' I deserve to eat."

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He didn't entirely expect to hear the other guy give such an exaggerated sigh. It smarts, enough for his own mood to tank, but alongside that feeling of hurt, Vash is well enough empathetic to understand the attitude of his alternate copy.

Well, no regrets. If extending a hand and sharing a meal to Legato Bluesummers came at the cost of… Whatever this was sounding like, maybe embarrassment and disbelief and suspicion from the other Vash, then so be it.

"Accident," Vash replies, momentarily brusque to match the other's tone for just the word. Funny how he's now been given the care and curiosity he'd wanted just a moment earlier, since it's ended up feeling crappy after all. The sentiment is just too couched in blatant suspicion to feel like his own decisions have been anything but appreciated.

It's not bad of his predecessor to reach out on that front, but asking about that now a moment too late, instead of continuing focus on Bluesummers' behavior or words, felt like familiar evasion.

"And for your end of it, Wolfwood told me about you three." Better to try and make that clear now; not considering the death gallery of Archimedes, or direct conversation with Bluesummers himself, had been an oversight.

"Okay—time out, on that note. I don't wanna sound like I'm tryin' t'get an angle to yell at you with. We don't always get along, but you've been there for me." Sometimes. "And 'sides, it didn't sound like it was something you two coulda done much about.

"But Bluesummers didn't make so much a mention of any of it when we were in the Abyss; now you get why I'm sayin' he's 'disinterested'?"

The younger Stampede's only interaction with the puppeteer beforehand had been a clear attempt at protecting the other Vash, to redirect and defuse a killer grudge.

Giving grotesque detail of that encounter in the Mists would at the very least be disturbing to the right Typhoon's counterpart. Using his powers in attempt to murder him or force him to do something terrible would have been even more of an expected move.

If all else failed, he could've tossed hot tea and soup right at his stupid smiling face.

So why hadn't he? Why had Bluesummers bothered to listen to the wrong Vash babble on about the goodness of this world?

"Bluesummers'd never mentioned either of you," he emphasizes. He reasons that that would be the biggest indicator of disinterest. "He just needed someone to listen to how he felt. And he listened to me, too. He thanked me, Vash."

★ --;; "You--"

Vash sighs, long and loud, thumb pressed hard between his furrowed eyebrows in a clearly failing attempt at staving off any sort of impeding headache, obviously exasperated. "Why were you--?"

There could be any number of reasons why his counterpart could have been found once again in Burgatory-- and any single one of them would have probably caused the same reaction, with varying levels of intensity. For someone that's lectured Vash so many times for 'wanting to die', one of the two of them definitely was the one to talk into it freely so much more often.

It doesn't help that, no matter how much Vash wanted to believe in others, it's hard for him to trust those words in particularly coming out of Bluesummer's mouth. He'd stayed true to his word when it had come to making sure Vash had and would suffer-- so anything else feels like such an impossibility that it's hard to even begin trying to accept it. Any attempt at trying to tell that to the younger Stampede, though, feels like an exercise in breeding yet another argument. Even after what Vash had said to him, about learning to live-- it's hard to put that much trust in the man so suddenly.

And if the younger Stampede had seen the painting of what had happened, then... well. He would have found out sooner or later, in one way or another. Still, that doesn't stop the guilt from gnawing at him again. Had he been able to see the Undertaker as well? An unmoving heap against the pavement-- so much pain, all of it Vash's fault? He doesn't sound angry or upset about it-- though, considering who he's talking to, that also doesn't really amount to all that much.

"Didn't seem like it, huh...?" Even to his own ears, it doesn't sound very convincing, especially not . "Then why were you in there this time?"

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They're nowhere near each other physically, but Stamps still winces as though the other guy's shining the interrogation light in his face. Ow.

"I mean, is it really that crazy?" Vash half-jokes, biting his lips together when that's met with more pointed silence. "…I pulled us into Burgatory, and he wasn't the one who sent me there."

The other Vash was too jaded to inquire further on this last time, so this Vash figures there's a good chance he wouldn't start caring to ask now. He doesn't feel the need to linger on what happened in the Mists, either, leaving it at the namedrop of the post-death diner. He's content with giving off the heavy implication the undertaker had honestly informed him of what had been Legato's ticket there.

"We had a meal n'heard each other out. Helped him out with his phone. Looked at our paintings together. Seemed like it was what the guy needed, so." He cares enough to shrug, as invisible as the gesture is. "Dunno if I'd say 'I've changed his mind about you'. But he didn't seem like he was all that interested in bothering any of us anymore."

★ --;; Vash waits, silent, eyebrows slowly raising, for the explanation his counterpart is bound to try and give, as if the other was able to see his expression. Probably the dead silence is enough to give off the vibe. Or-- it definitely is, based off of the barrage he's met with.

"Woah woah woah--!!" he finally interjects, loud enough to cut through the train. He knows himself, and his own penchant for rambling-- especially when wanting to fill expectant silence-- and also knows that it will definitely keep going unless a force acts upon it. Maybe even if something does, depending on the topic at hand. To be fair, at least his interruption was a relatively nice one, considering just how much was just thrown into the soundwaves between them. He's... obviously been busy since the last time they spoke in person. He'd heard an update or two from Wolfwood, but that had been it, and it pales in comparison.

"Slow down." It's... a lot to parse through, none of which sounds as simple as the younger Stampede probably wanted it to be, with how fast he'd sped through everything. As if trying to glaze over such things wasn't also a tactic he was familiar with.

"Rewind all of that. Start again. You're trying to tell me you changed Bluesummer's mind about me with-- soup?" There's definitely something there, beneath the surface. Worry? Annoyance spawned from worry about the guy walking around one arm down? Any type of remark on it gets bitten back for now-- though there's no telling how long that will last. Besides volume, it's probably a little impressive how even he's managed to keep his tone-- at least. He hopes it is. Thinks it is, compared to how he feels.

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How do you feel about the other Vash?

"Aah, is it time for my check-up again? Ahaha…" Vash's laughter peters out soon enough. Okay, maybe he could make a better joke…

But he's really gone and said a lot of different things about the other Vash, for these two years of knowing him, huh?

"The other Vash, he's…" (And yet, he's at a loss as to where to start). "Lately, I've been real worried about him. But I—I think I know my place around him better, now. Compared to back then, I mean."

Annoying is one word for it. Embarrassing, in hindsight. Even going to visit him after the older Knives had disappeared had been a precarious decision. Not to say that the other guy doesn't deserve comfort or to be checked up on, but…

"Used to burden him whenever I could. Acted like I was owed a lot from him; guidance, kindness, all that. "Kept tryin' t'peek at the end of the book instead of doing the reading t'get there. He's helped me move past all that now, though." Don't be fooled, at least for now; it's not like he's anything close to the end of his own story just yet. "Considering everything so far, he's been pretty patient with me. I can't waste that."

Turns out, even two years later, it's tough to vocalize how you feel about living in the same world as a possible-future you, while simultaneously reckoning with the fact that the rest of your own story could just happen, anytime, without anyone being able to even see what's coming.

There's nothing anyone can do about an inevitable change like that. All they could do was appreciate the time left. Mourn when they needed to mourn.

Vash smiles, ready as he'll ever be to conclude.

"It was nice when we hung out on weekends."

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How do you feel about cats?

"Cute little things! Nice t'see lots more of 'em on this planet." They're kind of a rare sight back on Noman's Land, aren't they? Hopefully the one he spotted in JuLai made it out alright...

"Feels a little unfair my face feels all puffy around 'em, though." Vash pouts. "They seem kinda fragile, or maybe I'm kinda shy, I try not to pet any wild ones or call 'em over."

Try's doing a lot of heavy lifting. He's not immune to little animals looking and sounding cute at him, especially while he's eating...

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"You're here, now." It's said quickly, firmly, in contrast to the absence of response to the encouragement just prior.

As much as Vash'd like to, and even now with his boyfriend's vocalized support, now's not the right time. Telling the undertaker he'd just made amends with the guy who nearly split his spine apart and left him as a bloodied heap in front of his predecessor—that he smiled and laughed and broke bread with the puppeteer, knowing none of that all the while, there's no way he could word all that without damning himself and ruining his own proposition to take things easy today.

Fingers braced back against his own forearms twitch. He thinks to kiss his boyfriend's head, at least, but uneasily decides against it: Wolfwood's suffered enough, body and soul. Verifying that, recognizing it, making it so cruelly real, might not be the best or most welcome move.

He's not sure how much of a right he has to try to comfort him from that, to impose his assumptions at the end of a day that nearly killed him.

Well, one thing's for certain. He seems to want Vash around. So he stays.

"…You're too rough on yourself." A soft sigh. Hardly been any sweetness to the way he's been talking about himself this whole time.

Vash reaches out for a body towel, keeping it close so the other guy has easier access. "Aren'tcha hungry? Can't have you wrinkle up in there; wanna hug you real bad right about now."

He searches Vash's face when he can finally look at him.

He's not entirely sure what he'll find or what he's even looking for. Was he expecting disgust? Disappointment? Relief?

He looks away again, closing his eyes for good measure.

"Almost didn't. Almost. But then it'd be pretty fuckin' shitty of me to leave bloody shit around and then not tell ya." He'd meant to clean up, but he lost track of time. He could hear the pipes purring to life as the water reserves started to heat up again.

"An' hypocritical, since I wanna know what happened to you. When yer ready." He wasn't sure if he could hear it now anyway, he just lets his hand be held. He's quiet for a while, listening to the plumbing and the heat of Home. Their Home.

After a while he said, repeated, like a prayer, like he was clinging a rosary so tight the bite of the cross stung his palms.

"I just wanted to come Home."

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@amoirsetpacis / from [ here ]:

"Aw, c'mon… You're not mad at me before I even start explainin' myself, right?

"O-Okay."

The younger Stampede clears his throat after the full half-minute of silence that follows, free hand rubbing at the back of his now-heated neck. He had to be very very careful with what he was going to say next. And how he was going to say it. If he misspoke, it probably wouldn't be good for anyone.

"Okay. Well. He didn't hurt me or threaten me or any of you, really, I mean it, it's just that we just happened t'meet up n'I haven't been having my arm or gun with me so that he wouldn't be able to try that, and um, I bought him soup? And he liked it, and we were able to talk without him flinging the bowl at me or anything, so I was pretty sure he was okay with hearing me out, and he knows we're not the same guy for sure for sure now—oh! Also, I worked things out with my brother, too, and he's probably going to leave everyone alone (you should let me know if he's bothering you anymore, Wolfwood told me about that a little), including me and my Wolfwood, so we're really doing alright, I think I might've really helped everyone out of the whole, um, violence thing, and—"

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Spamton would shoot Vash multiple times?!

...Okay, it's not too different from how things used to be back on Noman's Land, albeit with more lethal rounds, but still!!

"Wha-wha-whaa!? Nonononono! We're friends!! I don't like this!" The Typhoon rushes forward and slides in for the home plate, trying to bop the paintball gun high up into the air. (So actually, more like volleyball?)

"OH, COME ON COM E ON COME ON !!! IT DONT; [oww oof my booones!] THAT MUCH!!! LOOK!! I'LL EVEN FIRE MORE [AngelSoft] THIS TIME, JUST FOR YOU!!!"

He's reloading...

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@bigshot / from [ here ]:

"Owwie... Owwie owwie ow ouch... ow!"

He's so hurt so bad. From the paintballs. See?? It's such a horrible thing, to shoot someone else...

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So honest. Wolfwood's recount of it hurts in unexpected ways, both the information and the way it's all said. The other puppeteer had been hiding much away from him, after all. It felt strange—for the other Bluesummers to inform Vash's partner and predecessor of their first encounter, only to go without mention of them at all in their following meeting in the not-quite afterlife.

It's as though taking his own life had also extinguished the need to cause further emotional harm, and an easily-accessible way to harm him, at that. Things might be better off this way, even if it hardly seemed the case right now.

A slow sigh. Vash seems to want to explain himself to reciprocate the honesty, but hesitates and keeps quiet instead. Either way, Wolfwood's feelings took a unanimous importance over figuring out how things would go from here. Better to focus on that need; Vash can't claim to be there for his boyfriend and not make good on it.

"…Can't blame you if you're too tired to know how to feel. Sounds like that all took a lot from you." A well-worn sympathetic look.

Holding onto his own composure isn't without a struggle, but with Nicholas in mind, it's the right thing to do. Vash meets Wolfwood's hand with his own, affirming the touch against his face. Even if he can't bear to look at Vash right now, he could still communicate his own desire to stay.

"Thanks, for tellin' me."

His own eyes, unshielded from his sunglasses, reveal a mixture of hurt, grief, guilt. His brow knots and unknots as he searches for an answer that the Stampede won't give him.

"Bluesummers held me hostage an' tried t' get the other Typhoon t' kill him 'fore he killed me." (Bet you didn't tell him that, you fucking bastard.) They met up in purgatory, then.

Not this time.

"He told me..."

('I killed him. He let me do it. He died apologizing to me before his body painted the road red with its viscera.')

"He killed you. Guess it was before this." He hoped he had the timeline right. He hoped he didn't.

"...I told 'im..." He feels teeth split his lip, and he feels it knot back together.

"I told him that if he wanted t' die so badly. He should just kill himself." His voice was nearly a whisper, and yet still was far too loud. "He did it. I...

I'd take it back.

If I could.

He's not the one who killed Livio, who fucked with the sandsteamer, but I hated him just as much. Just seein' him. Relivin' when he tortured me.

Still..."

He trails off, not making eye contact.

"I dunno how t' feel.

But 'm pretty sure,

-that other guy wouldn't've shot first. Guess Bluesummers saved me. Tore up my spine, but he let me live.

I had to ask the other guy for help. The vials...

I just wanted to go Home."