He knew, as easily as he could feel the shift in his own emotions in a way that he had become adept at with Vash that still had yet to stop being surreal, when his words had sunk in and he'd...shut down? He wasn't sure what to call it, honestly, those times when Vash buckled down and stopped waffling, when something effected him so strongly that his focus had become laser-guided on the next step in the journey. Something, now, felt different though, in the way he shifted gears, straightened up and began speed-walking in the direction of December.
He was used to the tense silences; Vash had always seemed to have trouble with words when something really effected him. This time, Nicholas couldn't help but feel like the shift had come specifically because of himself, and it was enough to make him want to reach out, shake him and shout and make him just say it. Actually acknowledge that this was on Wolfwood's head, to vent the pain his presence had caused.
Things were easier when they bickered and fought and argued, even if right now he felt like he would have gladly accepted all of the anger Vash had to throw at him without a single complaint. And he knew there was anger, no matter how kind he was, no matter how much he refused to show that anger to the people around him. But he knew that was the way Vash did things. Never once had he expressed that anger for who Wolfwood was, only the things he did. Not once had he just admitted that those actions were enough to strip him of any of the good he might have once had.
He was too. Fucking. Kind.
But forcing the fight he wanted wasn't worth the effort, not when they had much more important things to worry about. He sighed, letting his legs shift into their own long stride to keep up with Vash as they made their way out of town. He let the silence linger between them, let it and the tension he felt coming off of Vash in waves gnaw at his own nerves, like claws raking down his skin. He hated it, hated knowing he was the cause of it, and that was just what he deserved.
By the time he heard Vash speak up again, enough time had passed that he had reached the end of his cigar and tossed it out into the desert sand. The nicotine hadn't been near enough to blunt the way the hollowness in his voice and his words made those same emotional claws dig in, right into his chest in a way that made him grit his teeth and bite back tears.
"Don't do that. Don't..." He gritted his teeth a moment, Chapel's voice screaming at him in his head, memories of being beaten down and bloodied for showing the smallest moments of weakness. But Chapel wasn't here, and Wolfwood would rather take the anger than have Vash continue to pretend things were fine when they very clearly weren't. "Don't give me the whole...loving, kind act when we both know I don't deserve it. You're upset, be upset, seriously! You cannot tell me that if Nick is dead because of my fuck up, that you would be glad that it was me here instead of him!"
Somewhere in the back of his head, a tiny, weak voice that sounded like the man he knew back home flared up with a faintly-dawning moment of clarity that tried to push through the fog in his mind. What are you doing, why are you saying this? Because it was the truth, damnit! And now he'd kicked the wam's nest because he wanted to finally hear it from Vash's own lips, even when he knew that wasn't his way. He was just reminding him of what was at stake, he was digging the knife into the wound he would feel when they found Nicholas' body before he'd even received it, and he was making things worse.
Just stomping out in the direction of the town they'd been in, cursing up a storm the whole way. XD
He was used to the tense silences; Vash had always seemed to have trouble with words when something really effected him. This time, Nicholas couldn't help but feel like the shift had come specifically because of himself, and it was enough to make him want to reach out, shake him and shout and make him just say it. Actually acknowledge that this was on Wolfwood's head, to vent the pain his presence had caused.
Things were easier when they bickered and fought and argued, even if right now he felt like he would have gladly accepted all of the anger Vash had to throw at him without a single complaint. And he knew there was anger, no matter how kind he was, no matter how much he refused to show that anger to the people around him. But he knew that was the way Vash did things. Never once had he expressed that anger for who Wolfwood was, only the things he did. Not once had he just admitted that those actions were enough to strip him of any of the good he might have once had.
He was too. Fucking. Kind.
But forcing the fight he wanted wasn't worth the effort, not when they had much more important things to worry about. He sighed, letting his legs shift into their own long stride to keep up with Vash as they made their way out of town. He let the silence linger between them, let it and the tension he felt coming off of Vash in waves gnaw at his own nerves, like claws raking down his skin. He hated it, hated knowing he was the cause of it, and that was just what he deserved.
By the time he heard Vash speak up again, enough time had passed that he had reached the end of his cigar and tossed it out into the desert sand. The nicotine hadn't been near enough to blunt the way the hollowness in his voice and his words made those same emotional claws dig in, right into his chest in a way that made him grit his teeth and bite back tears.
"Don't do that. Don't..." He gritted his teeth a moment, Chapel's voice screaming at him in his head, memories of being beaten down and bloodied for showing the smallest moments of weakness. But Chapel wasn't here, and Wolfwood would rather take the anger than have Vash continue to pretend things were fine when they very clearly weren't. "Don't give me the whole...loving, kind act when we both know I don't deserve it. You're upset, be upset, seriously! You cannot tell me that if Nick is dead because of my fuck up, that you would be glad that it was me here instead of him!"
Somewhere in the back of his head, a tiny, weak voice that sounded like the man he knew back home flared up with a faintly-dawning moment of clarity that tried to push through the fog in his mind. What are you doing, why are you saying this? Because it was the truth, damnit! And now he'd kicked the wam's nest because he wanted to finally hear it from Vash's own lips, even when he knew that wasn't his way. He was just reminding him of what was at stake, he was digging the knife into the wound he would feel when they found Nicholas' body before he'd even received it, and he was making things worse.
"Fuck."