He'll remember it, later, when the haze faded, of his clear 'no' being ignored, being manhandled and whatever else someone wanted by arrogant strangers convinced they had the right to do what they pleased to him no matter what he said. Just like Knives, but that matched given who sent them. Any concerns about the smell are manufactured and to their benefit only, he'd been smelling it since they began to rot and a little longer wouldn't do a damn thing. It was so transparently just for them and their comfort and wishes and not at all for him that the entire time Wolfwood's gone he doesn't stop trying to get back to where he was. He is a hostile and uncooperative 'hostage', platitudes and offers of help rejected with bared little fangs and what fight he can put up, from vivid crimson jacket to canteens to meal bars. It's pointless, of course, Vash couldn't fight his way out of a field of daisies.
In time he might begin to see their actions as reasonable and concerned, doing what most adults would do when faced with an injured and terribly unwell child, even one of his apparent age. Something he himself might do in another twenty years, faced with similar circumstances. Things Knives himself probably wouldn't bother with, since Vash got himself into the situation he could damn well get himself out of it, but Knives too was a child. Wolfwood and his older self were not.
He didn't really expect survivors to be found, but as Wolfwood approaches alone, with a small bag of things he hadn't had before, it seemed somehow to seal that unhappy fragment of reality into place. Even one, even one person would have dulled the edge of what he'd caused here just a little, and with that unrealistic hope snuffed out, he seems to visibly deflate, not a small task for someone already on the small and slim side. Though the chocolate bar is taken, it's not eaten immediately, just held gingerly in his remaining hand. This could never happen again. He couldn't allow it, any of it.
Knives was right, he did need to practice. And next time ... next time.
There's no verbal response to either one, just the slightest of nods. It's an acknowledgment, and the best he'll manage for now.
no subject
In time he might begin to see their actions as reasonable and concerned, doing what most adults would do when faced with an injured and terribly unwell child, even one of his apparent age. Something he himself might do in another twenty years, faced with similar circumstances. Things Knives himself probably wouldn't bother with, since Vash got himself into the situation he could damn well get himself out of it, but Knives too was a child. Wolfwood and his older self were not.
He didn't really expect survivors to be found, but as Wolfwood approaches alone, with a small bag of things he hadn't had before, it seemed somehow to seal that unhappy fragment of reality into place. Even one, even one person would have dulled the edge of what he'd caused here just a little, and with that unrealistic hope snuffed out, he seems to visibly deflate, not a small task for someone already on the small and slim side. Though the chocolate bar is taken, it's not eaten immediately, just held gingerly in his remaining hand. This could never happen again. He couldn't allow it, any of it.
Knives was right, he did need to practice. And next time ... next time.
There's no verbal response to either one, just the slightest of nods. It's an acknowledgment, and the best he'll manage for now.