[His own hands snapped up in the same instant he saw Vash's hand reaching for his gun, so used to just knowing when he was about to act that his brain didn't even have to register what was happening before he was acting in tandem, which frankly he didn't think would ever stop being just a little weird. But then just as easily, he recognized when Vash locked up, and his own heart sank just a bit, the sight of his disbelief and shock reinforcing the memory of him sitting next to him, and the sound of him breaking down as the last of Nick's consciousness faded.]
Hey, hey, it's alright, Spikey, you're alright.
[Everything he felt coming off of him was like a wire stretched dangerously taut that threatened to snap without a moment's notice. Normally, when he sensed that kind of energy coming off of him, shit was going to get messy. Normally, he was the one to get the messiest, because he knew he was going to have to be the one to make all the shots that actually finished the job.
This was different, so, so different. Not that he was surprised. He really wasn't. Unless this was another Vash from a reality that had gone differently than his own, then it was obvious by the color of his hair alone that Vash was...later? than he was. Had lived longer than Wolfwood had. Because of course he had. And he'd known when it happened that he was going to be leaving a lot of hurt behind when he was gone. That was just the way Vash worked. Especially with his friends. And at least for Wolfwood, he had absolutely been a friend. Closer than.
He gave a shaky little smile, reaching up and pulling his askew sunglasses off of his face so that he could hold eye contact with him as he stepped closer, letting his hands lower slowly so that he wasn't still warding off a defensive attack but still holding them out in front of him. Not touching, not yet, but there was an implication that he would reach out if he needed to, if Vash gave any indication that he needed the contact.]
It's just me, Vash. You're fine, just breath for me, ok? [He gave a soft laugh, his voice barely more than a whisper when he spoke as he began walking slowly closer, so slowly, silently cursing the way his hands suddenly wanted to shake and the way his eyes burned.] Don't start cryin' on me, ok? It's...been a Hell...a Hellova time. You might get me started, too, an' nobody wants that. I'm an ugly cryer when you get me goin', probably put you to shame!
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Hey, hey, it's alright, Spikey, you're alright.
[Everything he felt coming off of him was like a wire stretched dangerously taut that threatened to snap without a moment's notice. Normally, when he sensed that kind of energy coming off of him, shit was going to get messy. Normally, he was the one to get the messiest, because he knew he was going to have to be the one to make all the shots that actually finished the job.
This was different, so, so different. Not that he was surprised. He really wasn't. Unless this was another Vash from a reality that had gone differently than his own, then it was obvious by the color of his hair alone that Vash was...later? than he was. Had lived longer than Wolfwood had. Because of course he had. And he'd known when it happened that he was going to be leaving a lot of hurt behind when he was gone. That was just the way Vash worked. Especially with his friends. And at least for Wolfwood, he had absolutely been a friend. Closer than.
He gave a shaky little smile, reaching up and pulling his askew sunglasses off of his face so that he could hold eye contact with him as he stepped closer, letting his hands lower slowly so that he wasn't still warding off a defensive attack but still holding them out in front of him. Not touching, not yet, but there was an implication that he would reach out if he needed to, if Vash gave any indication that he needed the contact.]
It's just me, Vash. You're fine, just breath for me, ok? [He gave a soft laugh, his voice barely more than a whisper when he spoke as he began walking slowly closer, so slowly, silently cursing the way his hands suddenly wanted to shake and the way his eyes burned.] Don't start cryin' on me, ok? It's...been a Hell...a Hellova time. You might get me started, too, an' nobody wants that. I'm an ugly cryer when you get me goin', probably put you to shame!