Of Hellholes, Dumb Blonds and Premature Mid-Life Crises

Disclaimer: I don't own a thing.

Warning(s): bad writing, possibly OOC? Don't ask me about the fail! title either, thank you. While this was edited a bit by sexandjam, some typos might still persist because neither of us are robots.

A/N: This was probably the most difficult fic to write for the springkink. Because it's a favourite fandom of mine and I wanted this to be as good as possible. No smut because, the longer I pondered over this, the less fitting it seemed. All feedback accepted?

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No one escaped Death's wrath - not even him.

(Because it's always there, lurking about like a shadow - maybe not reaching him, but others - dragging and pulling those accursed souls down into the darkness).

Philosophy aside, Wolfwood just hated how Vash allowed himself to get so torn up about everything. As if doing that would bring the dead back.

Even his sunglasses didn't blind him against the fact that Vash was sitting on the steps, probably contemplating why he couldn't save another life. The guilt, Wolfwood imagined, was probably eating him from up inside - making him increasingly more bitter and his smile emptier.

Hate his fake smile: it hurts like a cutlass and is just as heart-wrenching as the crying of a puppy.

Oh well. It wasn't like he was able to dissuade Vash to stop moping. Death just seemed to have a tight grip on him, its grinning skull-face following him wherever he went.

Sooner or later, we'll all become corrupted by it, Wolfwood thought as he flicked a cigarette out of his pockets, scraped it down at the heel of his shoes and, seeing that it was lit, put it in his mouth. The taste was good - and he closed his eyes, allowing himself for a fraction of a moment to just relax. Didn't get enough of that lately - there was always something or someone following him - them.

Then again, he'd gotten himself involved with Vash the Stampede. So no big surprises there.

I knew what I was signing up for. Hell, I knew it all along. .

One thing he really didn't know though was why he'd started smoking: sooner or later, it was going to kill him, but then - seeing how things were going - Wolfwood pretty much doubted he was going to live for very damned long. Not with all those people lining up to kill him, though - if he really thought about it - it was pretty much his own fault for not sticking to his principles.

Should have just shoot them down. Then, it'll be over - finally over.

But he couldn't - couldn't because, damn that Vash, something gnawed in the back of his mind now, telling him that maybe - just maybe - this wasn't the right way of handling things at all. Perhaps, killing wasn't the right solution; you could save people differently.

I've seen him do it -- saving without walking over corpses.

But, clenching his fist, Wolfwood reminded himself that he was doing this to save others, too. He didn't kill for pleasure; he doubted he'd every felt anything akin to pleas - well, maybe that was a lie. Sometimes, the people he killed just had it coming: bastards who didn't give a flying fuck about hurting innocents just deserved to bite the grass. And Vash - stupid, naive fool - didn't quite seem to get that, but preferred playing the good Samaritan instead. As if saving others while tearing yourself to shreds ever did anyone any good!

"What are you thinking about it?" an annoyingly familiar voice suddenly asked, slicing through his thoughts like a particularly sharp sword.

Since when had that idiot been standing behind him? Wolfwood wasn't someone you could easily surprise: he'd say that it was rather the reverse and yet, in spite of it all, Vash never ceased to amaze him. Either because he was infallibly stupid or awesome. He didn't know which to pick. Perhaps it was both: you could be stupid and awesome at the same time.

"Tongari," Wolfwood said with mock calmness, though he was really irritated - he fucking hated it when people snuck up on him, "hasn't your Momma taught you to not be as stealthy as a ninja when you're talking to friends?"

For a second, Vash looked confused - nearly adorably so. His green eyes were wide and he was nearly pouting, making him appear so terrifyingly young that it nearly fooled Wolfwood into believing that Vash was just an idiot. But he knew the truth, knew that -

It's a deadly façade - and yet not. Because, even though he's crazily skilled, he really has got a heart of gold and is pure in many ways.

"You look worried. I was just wanted to know if you're fine - "

"I'm not fucking fine. How could I be? You keep getting us in trouble just because you can't kill," Wolfwood wanted to yell at Vash, anger curling in his stomach and urging to crawl out, make Vash feel all the intensity of its venom (shake and shake him like a rag doll till he got it - till it was carved into his bones), but then he saw that Vash was genuinely concerned. And that was touching. Nearly. On the other hand, it was annoying too, for the very reason that he wasn't some distressed damsel that needed to be pitied.

I can do very well without you, Wolfwood told himself, recalling to his mind how he'd survived very well on his own before meeting Vash The Stampede.

He was not sure what to make of his muddled feelings right now - either he was just becoming sentimental with old age or he was terribly confused about something.

Whatever, Wolfwood thought and decided to let go off his anger - what was the damned point in being pissed off, anyway? It wouldn't solve things and he was so damned tired: sweat clinging to his body like some pesky mother hen and throat longing for the cooling taste of water. So, he did not have the time or even the patience to waste his energy on berating Vash. Or shaking him.

Instead, he decided to survey the town they had landed in and quickly brushed it off as a fucking shithole. It was just ugly wooden houses, miles and miles of sand and the blazing heat hovering over it all like a fog. Otherwise, nothing. So, it really was just was a - Wolfwood rolled his eyes in irritation. He shouldn't have expected anything else because mostly every town on this nifty planet was a shithole, making Gunsmoke nothing but a giant accumulation of fucking shitholes .

He assumed that he was frowning again because Vash - green eyes so evidently reflecting anxiety - looking concerned yet again and this grated on his nerves. He hated it; it was dangerous that Vash seemed to have found a way to get past his defences, making him so overwhelmed with everything. He felt like hugging and punching the other man. What the hell was going on?

Wolfwood had never expected to feel so damned confused over an hyper-active fool like Vash the Stampede.

Fucking hell.

...

Somehow they never seemed to function well without the booze in the evening. Maybe it was because they were both men and, when men are down and don't want to talk about what's going inside of their heads, they turn to drinking. Wolfwood knew that both him and Vash weren't really exempt to that little rule; there was enough hidden in both of their hearts that would never see the light of the day. So they turned to alcohol: alcohol that neither judged or expected judgement in return.

Not that there was anything wrong with that: the girls weren't with them right now and Wolfwood was glad for that. Mostly because he didn't have to put up some false display of holiness right now and could just drink to his heart's leisure. Nor did he have to hold back on the swearing and he felt like it, seeing how the room they'd been provided with was the very epitome of filthy. Blackened walls, a squeaky-sounding floor and furniture that looked so poorly put together that a slight thud would have sufficed to make it all collapse. There wasn't even a bed - just two mattresses placed next to each other.

What a shithole.

In the light of such poorly deniable facts the only thing you could really do was drink yourself merry. After all, as long as the drink was good, nothing else mattered: not death nor life. You just sat there with the drink in your hand and though of nothing (nearly like a true nihilist that is neither moved by tears or laughter - but just sits and stares out into space). .

And yet, though the vodka was warm and burned nicely inside of his throat, he was somehow not in the mood to get thoroughly smashed. It was growing dark outside, the room seeming even gloomier by the dying of the light - the only thing that kept it bathed in some kind of illumination was a poorly working lamp placed on a shaky table. The table itself stood in a very far-away corner of the room, so far away from where Wolfwood was sitting that the light nearly didn't reach him. Not that he cared: somehow, the darkness seemed right. Fingers tapping the ends of the chair he was sitting on, Wolfwood took another gulp from the bottle, but found the taste bitter - and, just because he felt like it, smashed the bottle against the floor.

"You're odd today," Vash - suddenly incredibly astute - said, making Wolfwood glare at him, dumbfounded. He'd nearly forgotten that he wasn't alone.

"Is there something on your mind? Don't pretend like this isn't the case."

"What's it to you? You're always odd and never tell me things. I don't bother you about it, do I ?" Wolfwood countered snidely, though he felt a bit bad about it. Vash was just trying to be nice, and here he was making everything so damned complicated. Sometimes, Wolfwood hated himself, hated every pore of his being.

"Ah, I'm sorry," the idiot responded - apologising, actually fucking apologising for something that wasn't even his fault - not directly, at least. Wolfwood felt nauseous because - no matter how much Vash annoyed him - he didn't want him to say sorry.

"Look - it's ... I don't know - I just feel that something's - wrong."

"Wrong?" Vash repeated, cocking his head to the side. Gosh, how Wolfwood hated Vash's mannerisms: he was fabulously talented at making himself appear to be cute. And that was highly inappropriate for a man of his height and lifestyle. Because, while it was okay for a guy to be ugly or vulgar, it wasn't okay for a bloke to pout like that or stare so wide-eyed. Neither was it alright for a man to giggle or dance about the way Vash did: Wolfwood often had the desire to call the blond out on his antics, but somehow the words always died on his throat. Because - and that was something he'd never tell anyone - he kind of liked it.

No, truth be told, he liked it a lot and that was inappropriate as well. Suddenly realising that Vash was expecting some kind of answer and that he'd been losing himself in odd musings yet again, Wolfwood quickly decided to come up with the most plausible answer.

"A slight, perhaps premature mid-life crisis. Nothing serious," Wolfwood replied, leaning back against the chair and observing how Vash digested that information.

Yet, it's not that simple at all. How can I tell you that everything I've done so far seems like some big fucking joke? And that's because you make me think that way. Because you showed me that things can work out differently. But I'll never tell you that. Pfft, you'd think I was some kind of pathetic loser or something..

"I hope so. You look even more haggard when you're frowning like this all the time - won't make you popular with the ladies," Vash told him jokingly and, standing up from the chair that faced Wolfwood's, slapped him on the shoulder before making his way towards the bed. Or better said, one of the mattresses. He was taking off his red mantle, even getting rid of his gloves and, without all that apparel, Vash looked nearly ordinary.

Just like your everyday Joe with hair that sticks up on all ends.

Yes, Vash would have been ordinary-looking and, maybe even cute, if it hadn't been for all the scars on his body. But it wasn't like people got to see him naked often enough and Wolfwood rather wished that it would remain that way.

Wolfwood couldn't tear his eyes away - not that there was anything special in how Vash undressed. He was neither graceful nor incredibly clumsy about it: just taking off his clothes with the ease and leisure of someone who didn't have any greater concerns.

But to Wolfwood, Vash was the most fascinating thing in the world.

...

Wolfwood was still awake and the only sound to be heard in the room was the soft breathing of Vash. He couldn't sleep though, couldn't do anything but just sit on that same damned chair and think - just like some love-smitten Romeo. Thankfully, he wasn't going to start waxing poetry about the moon and its changing shape any time soon. Otherwise, he'd just have pressed a gun against his forehead. While a little bit of schmaltz was allowed, Wolfwood would have rather died on the spot than let himself be carried away by feelings of sentimentalism.

I'm think I'm losing my marbles. Great.

Wolfwood would have loved to smoke but - as luck had it - he'd run out of cigarettes. He sighed loudly and cursed.

When warms hands curled themselves around his neck and soft hair brushed against his forehead, Wolfwood found his chain of thoughts interrupted. He stiffened momentarily, but relaxed when he perceived a familiar odour - it was Vash. Only Vash smelled like doughnuts and alcohol at the same time. Wolfwood smirked - that guy really was a kid at heart. And yet a man of the world.

"You're not - asleep?" Wolfwood whispered, too surprised really to be angry. Moreover, it wasn't really surprise but more gladness and relief - he'd hoped that Vash would wake up. Not only because he'd been thinking too much, but because Vash's presence calmed him down.

Keeps me from tearing my hair out in frustration over my own damned thoughts.

Wolfwood rose from the chair and pulled Vash into an embrace. "So what woke you up?"

"Nothing. I wasn't asleep. At first, I thought I'd leave you alone, but you seemed upset - I think you needed company, so I got up." Vash snuggled closer. "You're warm."

One thing that Wolfwood had always liked about Vash was his simplicity. Once you really got close to him, Vash was incredibly honest and laid-back. Moreover, he didn't push Wolfwood, accepting that were things he couldn't commit himself to.

"I was thinking. A lot. About death and life. And what I might or might not do if I survive," Wolfwood said, feeling that Vash deserved to know that much.

"If we get through this alive, what do you plan to do?"

Hmm. That was a good question. He couldn't go back to the orphanage and, to be honest, he really didn't want to. Of course, he loved the kids. But then he also knew that there were other places he wanted to be. Maybe he'd never admit it out loud, but - during the course of their acquaintance - he'd come to view Vash as home. Maybe a chaotic and a very insane sort of home, but he'd never felt safer than with Vash. It was really as simple as that.

"You mean, if we will continue meeting up in odd towns and shacking up in weird inns in order to screw each other's brains out?" Wolfwood asked, feeling that there was no point in not stating loudly what they both thought.

They had never really talked about their relationship or the fact they had sex: Wolfwood had always accepted it as something that was common among guys who were lonely and looking for an uncomplicated arrangement. To be honest, he didn't really know how it had come into being either - not that it mattered greatly.

"I wouldn't mind that," Vash said and - because it wasn't fully dark, moonlight pouring in through the uncurtained window, Wolfwood could see that Vash was smiling - a shy smile that made him look so much more like a boy than man he actually was.

And, at that moment, Wolfwood - no matter how cheesy it was - knew that, even if he'd come to regret anything he'd ever done in his life, he would never regret having met Vash.

"No, I wouldn't either."

And here it was again - that confusing emotion. No, that was wrong: not confusing. Maybe, up till now, he'd just been too much of a coward to acknowledge it.

Maybe because life just happens to be too much of a bitch. Once you finally realise that you've got something good going on, it nearly always backfires on you - snap. Just like some damn tragedy.

But he wasn't going to think about the future - not today. Perhaps, he'd been thinking too much, always on the run and - right now - Wolfwood just wanted to lean back and let himself fall. For a few precious moments, he just wanted to be happy.

So, Wolfwood kissed Vash, softly and tenderly - his lips not forcedly attacking Vash's but slowly exploring. He felt himself wanting more - the urge to touch flaring up in him. But, for some reason, Wolfwood suddenly didn't feel like taking this any further tonight, content to simply kiss and hold. After all, there were be more than enough time for that.

You'll still be here when I wake up.

Yes, they had all the time in the world.

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