[If only it were that easy, to make him angry enough that he could simply write the man off as a lost cause, someone who didn't deserve love, someone he hated. But hating him would have been a hard thing even before. Vash didn't hate easily. He could be angry, rage, hurt, sometimes even want to lash out and hurt people back. But in the end, he always came back full circle to wanting to take care of people, even the ones who had hurt him, and to see the best in them.
And that was just the ones he hadn't lived side by side with on the road for as long as he had with Wolfwood. No. When it came to Nicholas, nothing he could say or do would make him hate the man, not even one that was different than the man he'd buried in December.
But...he deserved the distance, to have his inherent need for friendship with the man thrown back in his face. He hadn't given the man he cared about the proper respect and care when he'd had the chance. Maybe if he'd told him...maybe if he hadn't tried so hard not to let him become something so precious to him and had instead let him know how cherished he was when he'd been alive, he wouldn't have gone off on his own, thinking his struggles weren't important enough for Vash to want to help, and gotten himself killed.
The thought felt physically painful, like someone was carving his heart out of his chest with a spoon, and for a long time as they walked, he had to choke back the sounds of himself crying. He couldn't stop, no, but Wolfwood wouldn't want to hear his blubbering. It would just irritate him worse, and as much as Vash couldn't stop the voice in his head snarling that he deserved the rage that irritation would make him direct at him all over again, Wolfwood shouldn't have to deal with...this. All of him, all of his guilt.
Some time through the walk, he mindlessly pulled the little silver lighter out of his pocket, clutching onto it tightly in his fingers, his thumb rubbing over the grooves and ridges of the separation between the body and the lid. When his hand moved to press the side of his fingers against his mouth in an old anxious gesture he didn't even realize he was doing, it pressed the top corner of the lid against his lips instead. It wasn't a kiss to the thing, but it looked as close as it could be. Mostly, though, simply holding it helped to calm him as much as he could be calmed with those dark thoughts rolling through his mind, and after a while, the tears stopped needing to be choked back under hiccupped breaths.
They had been walking for a long time when he pulled it away from his mouth just long enough for his voice to finally call out again, soft and scratchy, curious and not unkind but neutral, just needing the information, not trying to reach out like he had been before.]
Where are you heading? [It made sense, after all, for him to know where he would need to take him. That way, he could make sure he didn't head in a wrong direction somewhere and land them in the wrong place before Wolfwood had noticed to tell him.]
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And that was just the ones he hadn't lived side by side with on the road for as long as he had with Wolfwood. No. When it came to Nicholas, nothing he could say or do would make him hate the man, not even one that was different than the man he'd buried in December.
But...he deserved the distance, to have his inherent need for friendship with the man thrown back in his face. He hadn't given the man he cared about the proper respect and care when he'd had the chance. Maybe if he'd told him...maybe if he hadn't tried so hard not to let him become something so precious to him and had instead let him know how cherished he was when he'd been alive, he wouldn't have gone off on his own, thinking his struggles weren't important enough for Vash to want to help, and gotten himself killed.
The thought felt physically painful, like someone was carving his heart out of his chest with a spoon, and for a long time as they walked, he had to choke back the sounds of himself crying. He couldn't stop, no, but Wolfwood wouldn't want to hear his blubbering. It would just irritate him worse, and as much as Vash couldn't stop the voice in his head snarling that he deserved the rage that irritation would make him direct at him all over again, Wolfwood shouldn't have to deal with...this. All of him, all of his guilt.
Some time through the walk, he mindlessly pulled the little silver lighter out of his pocket, clutching onto it tightly in his fingers, his thumb rubbing over the grooves and ridges of the separation between the body and the lid. When his hand moved to press the side of his fingers against his mouth in an old anxious gesture he didn't even realize he was doing, it pressed the top corner of the lid against his lips instead. It wasn't a kiss to the thing, but it looked as close as it could be. Mostly, though, simply holding it helped to calm him as much as he could be calmed with those dark thoughts rolling through his mind, and after a while, the tears stopped needing to be choked back under hiccupped breaths.
They had been walking for a long time when he pulled it away from his mouth just long enough for his voice to finally call out again, soft and scratchy, curious and not unkind but neutral, just needing the information, not trying to reach out like he had been before.]
Where are you heading? [It made sense, after all, for him to know where he would need to take him. That way, he could make sure he didn't head in a wrong direction somewhere and land them in the wrong place before Wolfwood had noticed to tell him.]