Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Vash woke up with a start, a sudden feeling like he had been dropped into his bed from a great height. He sat up, eyes wide as he took in gasping breaths of air in the quiet night. The ceiling fan spun lazily overhead, and although the room was dark, Vash’s inhuman eyes saw everything with clear detail. Next to him, Wolfwood lay asleep with his back towards him, unaware of Vash's turmoil.

He could feel his sweat soaked t-shirt sticking to his chest. Vash's throat felt dry. The bedroom felt too hot and too small. He couldn't stand to be in it.

Quietly as he could, with his mind not all present, Vash slipped out of bed and left the bedroom. When he entered the hall, he could hear Milly's snores from the other bedroom down the way. He stopped for a moment and focused on the sounds in the old farm house. The gentle sounds of sleep filled his ears, he would not be caught. With an exhale so deep it almost flattened his lungs paper thin, Vash walked down the old wooden steps to the main floor of the shared house and made his way barefoot into the kitchen.

Static filled Vash's body. Bits of electricity coursing through his veins and popping at every junction, urging him to move. He was not meant to be so stationary. Despite only living with Wolfwood, Meryl, and Milly for barely a year, the feeling of needing to move overwhelmed him. Vash ached to move. It's what he had been doing for well over a hundred years. Bedding down and living a life of comfort had never been in the cards for him, and now that he was doing it? It stung. Like when you sat in an odd position too long and your foot fell asleep from not moving. That’s how Vash felt. His body burned and prickled with movement and jitters that needed to be released.

Vash took the pitcher of water from the refrigerator and an empty glass from near the sink and filled it up. He downed it almost immediately, trying to zap his body back to normal and neutralize the feeling of electricity inside him. He filled the cup a second time and drank it just as quickly.

It wasn't just that his body ached to move, it's that his heart hated the fact that he would be hurt again.

As he put his empty cup and the pitcher down on the counter, Vash sat down at the kitchen table and stared out the window. It wasn't noticeable now, but the others were aging- and Vash was not. If he stayed, the years would take their toll on their human bodies while Vash would be confined to his immortal youth. He had seen so many people die and each death was a stitch on his heart. He didn't know if he could stand to lose Wolfwood, Milly, and Meryl… The first people he had truly let in. The thought of watching them grow old and eventually pass just like every other human with no means or power to stop it terrified Vash.

But that didn't have to be the way things were. Frowning, Vash put his face in his hand and pushed back the urges that had always lived inside him. He could run away. That's what he was best at, running. If he did that, then the others would still be able to lead a fairly normal and happy life. And then Vash wouldn't have to have his heart broken anymore than it already was. He could pack up, leave and live with the memory of them being alive and young and-

“Vash?” It was Meryl. She stood in the entryway of the kitchen, rubbing at her eyes sleepily. All she had on was one of Wolfwood’s dress shirts. It trailed past her knees, and the faint light from the moons shining through the kitchen window made it look like it was almost glowing in the dark. “What are you doing up?”

Vash didn't know how he didn't hear her. He sat still in his chair a moment, the thoughts of deserting expelled from his mind. “Couldn't sleep.” He muttered, taking his hand off his face.

Meryl nodded softly and walked into the kitchen. “Me either.” She walked behind Vash and wrapped her arms around his neck.

As he closed his eyes, Vash put his hand on top of Meryl’s. He leaned back into her and sighed. He would never be able to leave, he couldn't do it. All the pain he vainly thought he'd be saving himself from would just be rebounded on to the others.

“You wanna sleep on the sofa?” Meryl muttered, her lips on the back of Vash’s head.

“Are you sleeping with me?” Vash asked in turn.

He could almost hear Meryl rolling her eyes. “Maybe I'll just make you sleep on the floor instead.”

“Be nice to me.” Vash tiredly whined.

“Then come to bed, I'm tired of standing here.”

Vash got up from his chair and walked into the living room with Meryl. He plopped down upon the old sofa first and Meryl quickly climbed on top of his chest, somehow managing to knee and paw him in every sensitive spot Vash had in the process. Vash was only slightly uncomfortable, the weight of Meryl on his chest displaced some of the worry in his bones. He wrapped his arm around her and held on to her tightly, like she was the one with plans to leave.

In a way, she was… They all had their tickets, they just didn’t know when the train would come. They were born with the tickets in their hands, Vash wasn’t so lucky.

Vash knew it was going to hurt when she did, when they all left him, but he no longer had the strength to run away. He was too tired.

Sleep found Vash much easier on the sofa with Meryl in his arm.

Chapter Text

Wolfwood was the first to go.

It seemed that the moment Wolfwood’s body knew that he was in a safe and stable environment, it began to age. All of the stress and fear that he had lived with throughout his life hit him like a truck. By the time he was 30, his dark hair had prematurely greyed at the temples and flecks here and there of white made his head look more like a mixture of spilled salt and pepper than its once dark black. Wrinkles settled at the corners of his eyes and around his mouth, growing more visible whenever Wolfwood laughed or smiled.

At least those things never changed, to the very end Wolfwood's smile stayed the same and his laugh still sent jitters through Vash's heart.

Another thing that didn't change in Wolfwood despite his growing age was his stubbornness. He had a home and partners who loved him, yet he still feared telling them the truth. Due to this stubbornness, when Wolfwood's vision began to fail him he didn't tell anyone. To everyone's guilt, by the time they noticed his poor vision it was too late to do anything. Wolfwood was blind and grey before he was even 40 years old.

Wolfwood didn’t seem to mind these changes to his body. He continued on, same as he ever was. Drank the same black coffee, smoked the same brand of cigarettes, and told the same corny jokes when the occasion arose for them.

Age truly didn't change any of them, if anything, it made Vash love them more. Made his heart more fearful for the inevitable.

On Sundays, Wolfwood and Milly always took the beaten old jeep the four used up the hill to the nearby Catholic church. Vash and Meryl stayed behind, only ever going to the special services and masses. Sometimes, Wolfwood would volunteer at the church. Despite the way he swore like a sailor and lived unmarried in a technical house of sin, he was still ordained and the congregation was happy to have him. He worked the confessionals when he could and was quite popular amongst the younger members of the congregation.

With his physical appearance changing so much, it was almost strange to Vash to see Wolfwood- at his soul, stay the same. Vash had seen people grow and die before, but he had never been there for such a long chunk of their lives. He was a drifter. One visit, a girl could be a bright young woman and the next time he managed to blow into town she was a mother with teenage children. Vash stayed the same. Always. Not a gray hair nor wrinkle in sight despite the years his body and mind had lived.

There was a brown leather chair in the old farmhouse Vash lived in with Wolfwood, Milly, and Meryl. It was fading with age and stuffing managed to poke through in growing holes along the back courtesy of Meryl's three cats, but from the day they all moved into the house Wolfwood had claimed it as his own. He sat there every evening and got frustrated when one of the cats or anyone in the house would sit there before him.

Vash remembered pacing the living room that day while Wolfwood sat in that very chair, smoking one of his cigarettes. He had been smoking less in the recent years, but the familiar smell of the tobacco still clung to his skin and his clothes.

“Spikey, what are you doing?” Wolfwood asked, his voice bringing Vash back from his mind. “You're gonna wear a hole in the floor.”

Still pacing, Vash looked over at Wolfwood. He had his head tilted in Vash's direction, while unable to see him he could still hear all of his footsteps. “Meryl asked me to make a shopping list.” Vash said, finally stopping. “I'm trying to think about what we need, but I can't seem to think of anything.”

Shaking his head fondly, Wolfwood took a drag from his cigarette. “Have ya tired lookin’ in the pantry? Or did you just immediately start walkin”?”

“I looked, but I keep thinking I've missed something.”

“Run your list by me then,” Wolfwood suggested. “I'll tell ya if you've forgotten somethin’.”

“Well, I know we need potatoes and carrots.” Vash began. He stepped across the room and in a way that showed he had done it more than a hundred times, comfortably sat himself down in Wolfwood's lap as he sat in the chair. “The girls used up the rest of ‘em when they made that stew a few days ago.”

“Oh, yeah.” Wolfwood was unfazed by Vash's behaviour. He switched his cigarette to his opposite hand and wrapped his dominant arm around Vash's back. “Do we have any of that leftover in the fridge?”

“I finished that off for lunch,” Vash smiled guiltily. “My bad.”

“Hm,” Wolfwood turned his head away from Vash and exhaled, blowing smoke in the opposite direction. “What else ya got?”

Hooking an arm around Wolfwood’s neck, Vash continued. “Butter annnnnd-” He strained his mind, trying to remember what else he was sure the house needed. “Laundry soap.”

“That it?” Wolfwood ground the rest of his cigarette into the ashtray on the nearby end table. “What about flour? Y'know Mils has been on another bakin’ kick.”

“My waistline sure knows it.” Snickering, Vash brought his face closer to Wolfwood's and stole a quick kiss from his cheek. He added flour to the list in his head.

Huffing, Wolfwood put his hand on the center of Vash's face and pushed him away. “The list, spikey.”

Vash took Wolfwood’s hand before he could pull it away. With a roll of his eyes, he traced his finger over the creases on the inside of Wolfwood’s palm. “You need anymore cigarettes?”

“Nah, still got some of the carton Meryl got me in the freezer.” Wolfwood let Vash play with his hand for a moment before reaching up to place his palm on Vash's face again. He was more gentle this time, cupping his hand on Vash's cheek. “Kitty mix?” Wolfwood asked, keeping his face towards Vash's.

Grinning at the silly name Wolfwood had always used for cat food for some reason, Vash gave a nod. “We'll be good until next week's trip.”

Humming quietly, Wolfwood carefully moved his fingers over Vash's face. He traced over his lips, down his nose, and around his eyes. The motions were slow, the once calloused pads of Wolfwood’s fingers were now soft against Vash's skin. He didn’t speak, focused on mapping the face he could no longer see.

Vash’s breaths came in slow and shallow exhales while Wolfwood touched him. Wolfwood saw so much with his hands since his eyes decided to retire before the rest of him. He liked to feel the others’ clothes to piece together what they were wearing in his mind before asking them to describe the patterns and colours. He could name each of Meryl’s three toms by touch alone, by the texture of their fur and the shape of their body under his hands. Wolfwood could still braid the girls’ hair perfectly, his hands told him all he needed to know to make perfect loops and twists that he no longer had the satisfaction of seeing.

And of course, there was the way how Wolfwood touched their bodies, their faces. Unlike Vash’s stable physique and looks, Wolfwood could feel all the differences on Milly and Meryl’s bodies with his hands. He could feel the sagging skin on Milly’s hands and how Meryl’s hair was beginning to grow thinner. Touching them must have been a new journey, an adventure to keep up with his partners’ appearances despite not being able to see them. Vash figured that when Wolfwood touched him, it was more of a walk down memory lane.

“Yer as beautiful as you were the day we met, angel.” Wolfwood mumbled, a small smile pulling at his lips. His hand stopped, now resting comfortably on Vash’s cheek.

Vash looked into the blind eyes that he knew so well. The eyes that could no longer see him, but still knew him inside and out. “You look even more handsome now than you did then, Nick.”

This made Wolfwood grin, “Got a thing for older men, d'ya?” He teased, leaning forward to clumsily place a kiss to Vash's jaw. He moved down, slowly beginning to kiss at Vash's neck.

Laughing, Vash moved closer to Wolfwood to make things easier for him. The shopping list was forgotten. “Just you.” He turned his head so that Wolfwood would find his lips instead.

If anything, it was a wonder that Wolfwood had lived as long as he did. His strenuous youth, not to mention his past habits of heavy drinking and smoking a pack a day had caught up with him. He was barely 43 when he died. At heart, Vash knew that was many years more than Wolfwood had thought he was ever going to get, but that brought him no peace.

Wolfwood's death was a loss he felt throughout his entire body. Like a piece inside of him was hollow and gone. It wasn't just him, but Milly and Meryl, too. All three were struck hard by the loss of their shared partner and friend. On the day that he died, Vash didn’t just mourn Wolfwood, but also Milly and Meryl. Wolfwood’s death showed him that their deaths truly were inevitable and that no matter how much Vash loved and cared for them, he could not prevent it.

Wolfwood died on a Sunday, and was buried in the churchyard of the church he and Milly attended. The mourners consisted of almost the entire congregation, plus Vash, Meryl, Milly, and some of Milly’s extended family who had known him. Despite all the death Vash had been around in his life, he had never attended a funeral. It felt foreign to him, and his mind was so far gone that he could barely register the unfamiliar practices of mourning and death that seemed so customary and known to everyone else.

Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust. At least Vash thought Wolfwood would have gotten a kick at all the fuss people made over him in death. He never did like attention.

Chapter Text

When Meryl died, Vash was worried the grief might take Milly with her.

Meryl, who was barely 5 feet tall in her youth, unfortunately shrank a good few inches as she aged. While her age creeped higher, her stature grew smaller. It had been a source of good teasing for Vash and Wolfwood, and when Wolfwood passed, Vash continued to tease Meryl for the both of them. As much as she claimed to hate the jokes made at the expense of her lack of height, Meryl still rarely used the step stool she had. It was clear she’d much rather ask Vash or Milly to grab the things she needed at risk of the jokes. Vash had never called her out on it, of course. He loved the way she got red at his jokes, how she would swear at him, and quickly swipe away the desired object from his hands once he got it from the higher shelf.

Vash would give anything to hear Meryl call him a 'lanky idiot’ again.

Unlike Wolfwood, Meryl’s hair did not fade one bit. It kept its dark colour, only becoming thinner and less shiny with age. Meryl never seemed to mind, though she had been a bit paranoid about developing a bald spot. She would comb through her hair and use all sorts of mirrors to check and see if she still had all the hair she did the previous day. She had learned not to ask Vash if her hair looked okay, because to him it always did. Vash would’ve loved Meryl regardless, even if her hair grew patchy or if she had a bald spot. The way age changed her body was beautiful and he loved it, he loved her.

Vash still loved Meryl even years after her death, afterall. Why should her looks changing make any difference in her beauty or how he felt towards her? If you could love someone even in death, the thing that changed them the most, then you could easily love them when their living appearance changed with blessed age or growth.

Meryl at her heart was stubborn and prideful, it wasn’t something Vash minded. She had always been like that after all, and Vash thought it was cute. Considering that, Meryl kept her job at the insurance agency even after Milly quit. She had to be basically forced to retire by her co-workers, and while she had been upset about it at first- she quickly began to see the perks of retirement. Most of which consisted of being able to nap whenever she wanted with either Vash or Milly and the ability to dote on her cats all day.

Vash remembered being so happy the day Meryl came home all in a fuss because she had been retired by her higher ups. He had played concerned and equally angry that she had been let go in such a manner (the nerve of her co-workers for throwing her a party with a cake of all things!), but ultimately he had been happy. Milly didn’t even disguise her joy at the idea of Meryl now being home with them all day, every day. Both of them had worked steadily at the insurance agency for some years, so their retirement plans were well stocked so they all three could live comfortably, afterall. Meryl had just not liked the feeling of her retirement not being her choice, it made her worry that her work was inadequate despite being one of the highest ranking people in her department by the time of her forced retirement.

The biggest hobby Meryl took up in her free time was gardening. She had run through a good few other hobbies before landing on it (her arthritis flaring up whenever she tried to knit and her perfectionist streak never allowing her to be satisfied with her paintings), and it was the only one that stuck. Sure, like the others, it took a little trial and error, and it didn’t help that Gunsmoke’s soil was powdery and dry in the places where it wasn’t straight sand. Still, there were a few crops that could be grown in the poor conditions as long as they were given the attention they needed; and Meryl was determined to make something grow on their little plot of land.

Each day, Meryl would wake up early before either of the suns could rise to work on her little garden. She toiled away outside in the early morning and the evening after the suns had hidden away and the earth grew cool. During the heat of the day when much couldn’t be done, she poured over Almanacs and plant books with so much fervor that Milly had brightly remarked in secret, “I haven’t seen Meryl this pumped since we first started looking for you!”

Vash had been so glad Meryl had an activity she could pour herself into again, so when her little garden of aloe plants and tomato starters weren’t doing well despite all of her hard work, he felt bad. Meryl seemed to like gardening so much, and she was so determined to make her plants grow. While she wouldn’t let either Milly or him help with her garden, Vash just felt like he had to do something.

It had been a strange idea, and thinking back, Vash wasn’t quite sure how he had never had tried it out before. He thought that an Eco-Plant would have been helpful in Meryl’s gardening endeavors, not because she wasn’t a good gardener, but because sometimes life just needed a little push. He remembered thinking, late at night long after Milly and Meryl had retired (Meryl had always gone to bed early, but at that point neither of them stayed up past 11PM), that if only an Independant could have the same abilities as an Eco-Plant, even if it was on a smaller scale. Vash was a Plant, but he didn’t have that power… did he?

Vash had bled so much in his life. He wondered what harm a few drops more of blood would cause?

It would’ve been a long shot to work at all, and purely an experiment on Vash’s end to see if he could make Meryl happy with her gardening skills. How was he supposed to know it would work? A drop or two of blood from the tip of his finger on each of Meryl’s withered looking plants had them positively glowing by the next morning. Vash remembered how ecstatic Meryl had been in the early morning, waking up him and Milly to show her how her plants had finally taken off.

The smile she had on that day was so bright. She looked so beautiful with dirt under her fingernails, still in her nightgown as she dragged him and Milly outside into the cool morning to examine her plants.

“See!” Meryl had exclaimed, gesturing to her much healthier looking aloe vera plants and her now green tomato starters. “I told you I could do it. I managed to catch the Humanoid Typhoon, so it goes without saying I can grow a couple of cacti and some fruits!”

After a bit of help from Vash, Meryl’s garden began to grow well. Her confidence for gardening grew and she began to try other plants, sprucing up the otherwise empty land their house lived on. She even found a few dealers selling flower seeds, they were a pretty penny and hard to grow- but Meryl was so eager to try them. Vash had faith in her, afterall; and when her plants looked like they needed a helping touch… Well, he did what he did. Vash knew that Meryl would have been upset if she found out about his meddling, his hurting himself for her gain, but he never considered a prick of his finger to be much of a loss. He had felt larger blows, gone through greater pains.

It was an early morning. Vash, who had slept with Meryl the previous night, was woken up by the loss of her presence. He sat up and looked around the empty room. The side of the bed Meryl had slept in was made- or as well made as it could be with Vash still sleeping on his side. The grey morning shone dully through the window and Vash immediately knew where Meryl was.

He hopped out of the bed and reattached his prosthetic. Then Vash went to his own room to grab a shirt. He threw on the old shirt as he walked down the steps to the main floor of the house. Milly was out visiting one of her nieces, helping to care for her before the younger woman gave birth to Milly’s first grand-niece. So, it was just Vash and Meryl for a few days. Still barefoot and in his sweatpants, Vash traveled outside to find Meryl exactly where he expected her to be. In her garden.

Meryl had a basket with her and was selecting red, ripe tomatoes to pick. Her tomato plants had grown well, and the longer she gardened, the more the land became suited for providing life. Vash had to seldom help her plants along anymore, only rarely spilling his own blood for the satisfaction of the plants.

“Mind if I help?” Vash asked, stepping around the house to the side yard where Meryl kept her garden. She was very touchy about her plants, harvesting was the only time she really yielded to assistance.

Meryl’s head jerked up, “Vash!” Her eyes were wide. She had clearly been lost, admiring the plants. She took a second, registering what Vash had asked before nodding. “You don’t have any shoes on.”

The nod was as good as Vash was going to get, he grinned. “I don’t mind a little dirt.” He stepped into the garden, the ground was dark and damp. Meryl had already watered for the day. “Plus, it’s a nice morning.” He took the basket from Meryl’s hands and held it for her.

With a roll of her eyes, Meryl returned to her tomatoes. “Just don’t track any mess inside, will you?” She plucked one from the vine and deposited it in the basket Vash held.

“I’ll clean up before I go inside, don’t worry!” Eying the tomatoes in the basket, he picked one up and turned it over to look at it. “You’ve really got a green thumb, Meryl.” Vash dropped the tomato back in the basket and walked behind Meryl as she moved on to her next plant. “Maybe you should’ve become a gardener instead of going into insurance.”

Meryl laughed lightly through her nose, she shook her head. “Insurance is a lot more steady than vegetables.” She bent down to examine one of her hot pepper plants. Peering past leaves, Meryl picked a few of the ripe green peppers. “There’s always going to be insurance policies, but the weather isn’t always good enough to grow anything.”

Vash gave Meryl a hand, pulling her up from the ground. She dropped the peppers in the basket with the tomatoes. “You’ve still done a pretty good job with it.”

She looked at Vash and something small in Meryl’s face changed. “I haven’t done it by myself.”

“Well, you barely let me or Mils help you with the garden, so-”

“I know you’ve been doing something to my plants, Vash.” Meryl said, cutting Vash off. “I-” She sighed, “I saw you doing something a few weeks ago, and then there’s been that strange scar on your finger…”

Freezing, Vash’s flesh and blood hand flexed instinctively. His mouth fell open. He had thought he had been hiding his little secret well. Apparently not… “Meryl, I-”

“I’m not mad, Vash.” Meryl said, sounding mad. She huffed and took a deep breath. “I just wish you would have told me.”

“You never would have let me do it if I did.”

“Because you shouldn’t be hurting yourself for some stupid vegetables!” Meryl snapped. She swiped Vash’s hand up and turned it over, looking at the thick scar on the pad of his middle finger. “You’ve hurt yourself too many times to be doing it over produce.” She didn’t sound mad anymore, just… sad. That was worse.

Looking away, Vash let Meryl examine his hand. “I just wanted to help, I mean-” He turned back to her, but froze at her glare. “I have so much faith in your gardening skills!” He pushed on. “You’re so good at it, you really love these plants! I just- I wanted to do something to help them get along for you. It’s no different than a Geo-Plant, really.” Vash rambled on, trying to justify himself.

“Vash.” Meryl’s voice cut right through him. “You are my partner, not some Geo-Plant.” She squeezed his hand tightly. “You've spent so much of your life getting hurt, I don't want to see you do it to yourself anymore.” At Vash's silence, she continued. “I don't want you to hurt yourself for me just because you can, or because it's easy and you'll stay young no matter what. I don't want you to hurt yourself at all.”

Biting his lip, Vash gave a small nod. He could no longer look away. As Meryl's voice softened with tiredness, he ached. “I'd still like to help you with your garden, if you'd let me.” Meryl's frown had him hastily adding on, “No more Plant stuff! I'll do it the normal way!”

Meryl let go of Vash's hand, an annoyed smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Well, I'd be pretty set on fertilizer if I could use half the crap that came out of your mouth. But I suppose I could find another way for you to help.”

A bit of relief found the worry in Vash's chest. “Maybe we could brainstorm over breakfast?” He offered. “I can make some good omelets with these,” He wobbled the basket of produce.

“We can decide just how to dress you up to be the perfect scarecrow.” Meryl grinned. “I wonder- do you still have that old coat?”

Meryl’s death had felt more sudden than Wolfwood’s. When it came to Wolfwood, his health had never been great and he hated going to the doctor for any sort of ‘small problem’ or checkup. He claimed to have been beaten up enough times that he would know when he really needed medical attention. Meryl wasn’t like that. She never drank heavily like Wolfwood did, never smoked, and was more often than not the one who kept track of the calendar to make sure everyone else went to their appointments.

Meryl had been in relatively great health for her age, so her death being so sudden blindsided Vash and broke down Milly like a demolition crew on a crumbling house. She had died not by age or illness, but like so many others on No Man's Land, by the hand of another. She had been shot down while trying to deescalate a robbery at the bank. She had only been there because she was cashing in her and Milly’s monthly retirement checks.

The robbery had failed, the gunman being brought down just seconds after he had shot Meryl, but the damage had been done. Vash and Milly were later told by the coroner that the bullet had passed through one of her lungs as well as her heart. There was nothing that could’ve been done to save her as she would have died almost instantaneously.

When Vash and Milly got the news not even an hour later, they rushed into town. Vash remembered Milly being almost hysterical on the Jeep ride there. Despite not being one to drive, Vash would not allow Milly to drive in the state she was in. Her hands had shook so much more than her voice did, and all she could say was “ There has to be a mistake. Meryl is so strong and smart- this can’t happen” over and over. Vash had wanted to be as hopeful as Milly, but his heart had felt like it stopped beating, the only thing that stopped him from fully believing the news was the fact that he hadn’t seen Meryl yet.

Vash was never able to get the sound of Milly’s scream out of his head when she finally saw Meryl.

Losing Meryl had been bad enough, but in her death Vash was so worried about losing Milly as well. Vash had known that Milly and Meryl had been together long before he had met them, their relationship had been so special. And yet Vash still selfishly begged the world for Milly’s grief not to kill her. He couldn’t lose them both in such a short time. He couldn’t be alone, not after all this time living in a house full of people he loved who undoubtedly loved him back.

It took Milly almost a year to come back from the dark depression that Meryl’s death brought her. It was difficult for Vash, working through his own grief while also taking care of Milly, but they both needed each other.

Meryl would’ve hated to see Milly so distraught, and she would have known all the ways to make her feel better. At least during Wolfwood’s death, the three of them could comfort each other, but in the wake of Meryl’s death, Vash had no one to comfort him. He drew deeper into himself and focused on taking care of Milly, pulling on the old mask of a fake smile he hadn’t worn in years.

He still had to take care of Milly, afterall, and Meryl’s garden needed tending and her toms needed fed. His own pain always hurt less when he was more worried about taking care of others.

Had he been alive, Wolfwood would’ve called Vash out on his bullshit. But Wolfwood was gone, as was Meryl. They were buried together and neither were allowed- or able, to call Vash out any longer.

Chapter Text

Vash may have been unable to die in the normal ways a human might, from age or sickness, but Milly’s passing made him feel like he was dying. It marked another age of loneliness after being abandoned- first by Rem, and now by all of his partners.

Although he had been preemptively anxious about his partners’ deaths long before they died, when Milly was the only one left, Vash felt terrible every day. He remembered it was hard for him to enjoy the good in life when he was fearful that every moment with Milly might be his last. While he and Milly had never been together romantically, they had become the best of friends and very close to one another. They were still partners, even if they weren’t romantic ones, and their love for another was no lesser than the love they had for their now gone romantic partners.

Meryl’s death had aged Milly. Once she managed to pull herself out of the depression that Meryl’s death brough, Milly looked ten years older. Vash wanted to envy her, as nothing- no matter how terrible, would age him. But this aging of Milly’s was not one to be envied, but feared. It meant she was closer to leaving him than she had ever been before. Closer to joining the others. Her hair faded in colour and her face became more lined. Milly became so weak that going upstairs to her bedroom was a hard task for her alone. So, Vash rearranged the living room (careful to keep Wolfwood and Meryl’s chairs exactly where they had always been) into a new bedroom for Milly. The only bathroom in the house was on the main floor anyways, so moving her room just made things easier on them both.

There was a sadness that stayed in Milly’s eyes, even after she mostly became herself again. Vash had never mentioned it; he knew his eyes had that same look, but Milly and the others had never known him without that sadness, so they couldn’t have noticed it.

Together, Vash and Milly did their best to tend Meryl’s garden. They weren’t as good at gardening as Meryl, but the garden persevered under their care. Like he had promised Meryl all those years ago, Vash did not spill any more blood for her plants. He and Milly did what they could to take care of the garden, weeding, watering, and pruning when needed. Although they were far off from Meryl’s talent, it felt rewarding to see the garden trudge on. For the aloe plants to grow larger each year and for the little yellow tomato flowers to swell with the small buds of soon to be tomatoes. It was almost as if Meryl lived on through the garden. Working with the plants connected both Milly and Vash to her again.

In the worst times of her depression, Milly stopped attending church services. Vash did not blame her. He had never been one to understand the God that she and Wolfwood worshipped. Thinking too hard about their God, and the afterlife He promised to those good souls made Vash… Uncomfortable. Not uncomfortable, but full of dread, worry. He was not human, and he would never be granted the same peace of death that his partners had obtained. The idea of a heaven, although relieving in its own way- knowing that his partners could be together again, made Vash feel sick. He had no ticket to enter through those golden gates and would be confined to the sandy lands of Gunsmoke, only able to stare up at the clouds and hope.

Once she regained herself, Milly began attending services again. Unlike before, Vash went with her. He would never let her leave the house alone, not after what had happened to Meryl. He had felt out of place amidst the pews and the hymnals and the words of the priest. But Vash felt safer being next to Milly, less alone. He had clung to her shamelessly, like a child to his mother’s skirts in a strange place. Maybe it was because, subconsciously, Vash had thought if he held on to Milly tight enough that she would not be able to leave him.

It was wishful thinking afterall.

Milly began to visit her family more, and Vash had been more than glad to accompany her to her family home in Old Appalachia. Milly’s family were some of the few people to know that Vash was… Well, Vash . Milly’s brothers and sisters, not to mention some of her older nieces and nephews all knew him from once upon a time all four of them- Milly, Meryl, Wolfwood, and Vash, had gone to visit so Milly could introduce them to her family. It was only Milly’s younger family members that thought Vash was something akin to a scandalous, baby-faced boyfriend of Milly’s. Milly had always gotten a kick out of that.

Vash had enjoyed visiting Milly’s home. It was nice to be around noise and people again, people that weren’t just strangers but family. But a part of it made him ache as well. His and Milly’s house was never as loud as it used to be, never as full. Quite simply, it stung in the most bittersweet way seeing Milly’s family. Milly’s family had never been exclusive to just a few, unlike Vash, one death would not leave Milly alone. At least Vash could handle being alone, he’d bear the cross of loneliness if it meant Milly didn’t have to.

After the pair had returned from a week-long stay with Milly’s family, they were both tired and glad to be back home. Milly had entrusted the care of Meryl’s remaining cat and the garden to a couple of kids from the church. In return they could have whatever produce from the garden they wanted and a couple double-dollars upon her return to church the following Sunday. The cat, Temple, as well as the garden both seemed fine when they got back, not that they had really been worried. The garden might falter a bit… but Vash and Milly knew it and its care well enough by then to be able to perk it up in a few days.

The first thing Milly had done upon arriving home was drop her bag on the floor near the door and kick off her shoes before falling into her bed in the living room. “Gosh, I’m so tired!” She yawned. Despite her age, she still acted like she did when Vash first met her. It was almost humorous, seeing a woman of her age act like a child. At heart, Milly had not aged at all. “I can’t believe I used to run around like this every day.”

“The steamer ride was only a day long.” Vash teased. He put his own luggage down and walked into the living room to sit on the bed next to Milly.

“I like riding in the jeep better.” Shrugged Milly. She smiled at Vash and stretched her arms over her head. “I get to roll down the window and we can play I-Spy!”

“Until you fall asleep,” Shaking his head softly, Vash bent down to take off his shoes. “And then all I can spy is your drool, big girl.” Though he still wasn’t a good driver, Vash took on the wheel for longer trips so that Milly could rest.

Milly nudged Vash in the arm with her foot. “Says you! You snore.”

“No, Nico snored.” Vash tried not to laugh as he pulled off his boots. “I emit a pleasant white noise.” He could feel the coldness of Milly’s foot through both her sock and his shirt. He sat up and grabbed her foot, placing it in his lap. “You cold?”

With her hands over her mouth, Milly giggled. She shook her head, but then nodded as her laughter ceased. “A little…” She caught her breath, “We did all that walkin’ back from the steamer station but they just don’t stay warm.”

In her age, the circulation in Milly’s legs and feet had grown poor. Because of that, these parts of her grew cold easily no matter the heat. She’d wear leg warmers and thick socks in an attempt to try and keep some of the heat in her body, but they didn’t always work. The only way to warm her up and get blood flow back into these areas was to massage them. Wolfwood had used to rub Milly’s feet for her every Sunday afternoon after church services, and this was before her circulation grew poor.

Vash nodded, “Give me the other one then, I’ll warm you up.”

Milly plopped her other foot into Vash’s lap with a smile. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Vash didn’t mind rubbing Milly’s feet for her. Age, although beautiful, was still a little strange for him. The ways it worked to destroy the body slowly… Vash was happy to make sure Milly’s feet never stayed cold on his watch. He’d work to keep her warm and full of life for as long as he could.

When Meryl’s final cat passed in the night, Vash should have taken it as a sign. He had woken up to find the bed he shared with Milly empty. He found her on the floor, kneeling in front of Meryl’s old chair crying quietly to herself.

The old cat had chosen to die in his mother’s chair. He had been curled up, content and cold in death; Milly stroking his stiff body.

Not even a week after they buried Meryl’s cat in a special place in the garden with its brothers, Milly passed, too.

And Vash really was alone.

Milly died in her sleep during an after lunch nap. She had told Vash she wanted to sleep in her and Meryl’s bed again, and he helped her upstairs to the old room. She still went up there on occasion whenever she wanted privacy, and the request had not seemed like an odd one.

Vash wrought his mind many times over wondering if there had been a sign he didn’t see. A look in her eyes, or a change to her voice. But Milly had seemed… Milly. Saddened, yes, by losing the final living part of Meryl they had left, but she was the same.

When Vash had found her, he had wanted to die more than ever before. It almost felt cruel, seeing her laying so peacefully while he was being ripped apart from the inside. He had never blamed a person for dying, but a selfish part of him wanted to blame Milly for leaving him. Even though it was inevitable.

Milly was buried in the church yard alongside Wolfwood and Meryl, and her funeral had the biggest turnout of the three. Her entire family came, flooding the church in their clothes of black and their saddened tears.

Vash didn’t remember the words of the service, the tearful goodbyes of Milly’s extended family, or the prayers that were spoken for the bereaved. He didn’t even remember if he had stayed to see her lowered into her place of rest next to Wolfwood. One moment he was in a sea of mourners, and the next he stood alone in her and Meryl’s old room.

He remembered, trying to take in the room. Trying to spot any changes that may have shown him Milly’s final thoughts.

He had found her journal, open on the desk in the room. Missed in all of the commotion of death and denial.

And Vash had read all of the words Milly had been saving until her death to say. Her final entry spoke to him plainly, though her words were not unkind. Instead they were remorseful, guilty even, but they still had all the love Milly carried in her heart for as long as Vash had known her.

Vash didn’t know how many times he must have read that entry, standing stock still with the worn journal in hand. Milly’s final words had burned into his brain, be it because he had read them so many times, or because he still hated to lose any part of her. He could still see them when he closed his eyes, her words scarred into his pupils like a sun spot.

‘I’ve never been more sorry in my life than I am now, Vash. I’m sorry I had to die. But in all my heart, I waited to write this so you wouldn’t feel so lost. You were really lost when we met so long ago, and I don’t want you to get lost again. I’m so sorry, but when Meryl passed all I wanted to do was crawl into her coffin and join her. I know I wasn’t easy then. I don’t remember a lot of when I was sick with sadness. But one day it became very clear to me, and I knew I couldn’t die then. I wasn’t supposed to. I couldn’t die then because you needed me. I wish I could've stayed longer, that we all could’ve stayed longer. But I think we’ll see each other again. We always saw each other again. No matter what happened and how much time passed, you couldn’t just shake us off. I love you, Vash. Please keep going for us, I know it isn’t your time yet.’

Along with that entry, Milly had another blurb that told Vash that she had been journaling since the start of her and Meryl’s chase for him all those many years ago. She had used her entries as a note to refer to whenever she wrote her family letters, and she had just never stopped writing. She let him know where all of her back journals were and consented to him reading them.

Vash had hunted down the journals almost immediately and spent the next few days doing nothing but reading them. No food, no sleep, no water. He saw the last few decades through Milly’s eyes and felt his heart break all over again.

When he finished the final journal and read Milly’s last entry over again, Vash felt more empty and alone than he ever had in his nearly 200 years of life.

Chapter Text

For a few weeks after Milly’s death, Vash slept outside. Being in the home he had made with all of his partners while they were gone made the place feel odd and uncanny. Like it was a museum exhibit and he was looking into someone else's life. Vash had been around death enough in his life to know that no one could come back from the dead, yet a part of him still thought that maybe if he left the house exactly as it was when Milly died- then maybe she and the others would come back.

He slept on the porch like a dog waiting with pitiful naivety for its owners who had moved away and left it behind to return.

In the day, Vash walked. More often than not the house was visited in the day by members of Milly’s old congregation or by her family. Vash couldn’t stand to speak to them. So, he did what he did best. He hid in the shadow of the horizon and walked until it became dark. Then he’d come back to the old and empty house, never stepping inside, but instead bedding down on the porch for a few hours of rest. Rest didn’t often come for Vash there, he didn’t know when rest would come for him again.

Meryl’s garden rotted without a hand to guide it. Overripe tomatoes and soft peppers fell off the vine and spoiled in the sun as they were eaten by bugs. Yet the aloe grew strong, their sharp points unphased by the lack of care. The few flowers that had managed to grow in the garden spread into the shade, seeking relief from the sun. All the work that had been done to keep the garden alive over the past odd years had acclimated the small patch of land to life, so it continued on. Yet the swarming flies and scent of rotting fruit were overwhelming. The garden lived on, yes, but it grew wild and ragged when it had once been carefully pruned and tended.

Vash knew he couldn’t stay there, he couldn’t even enter the house without feeling nauseous, but how could he leave? He knew he was wrong, that he was silly and misguided with grief, but what if they came back? What if an odd breeze blew and out of the dust devils walked the three who he’d do anything to be with again?

Each and every time Vash had fought the temptation to leave before things got bad surfaced in his mind during those slow nights where he’d lay on the porch and do anything but sleep. How different would things have been if Vash left before anything happened? Before Wolfwood had died? Wolfwood’s death had been the catalyst that struck the timer on Meryl and Milly’s fickle mortality. He had been the canary in the coal mine, signaling what was yet to come for all who stayed.

It was during one of those sleepless nights on the porch, where instead of his partners, Vash thought about Rem. While he loved his mother dearly, he had- to his own guilt, thought about her less and less in the past years. He still thought about her when Meryl’s flowers bloomed or whenever he saw a certain shade of red, but she did not haunt his mind like she used to. That job had been taken over by his partners.

But now, thinking about Rem, Vash remembered something he had not thought about in such a long time, she had lost someone, too. How could he have forgotten that? Upon remembering, Vash sat up in the quiet dark and strained his mind for any memory he could find. Long before Rem had joined Project SEEDs, she had been in love… maybe even engaged. But the death of the man she loved ended it all and sent her to the stars to find herself and a new planet for humanity to claim. Rem had never mentioned him often, but there was always an air of sadness about her when she did. It was the look in her eyes and how she carried herself.

How did she do it? How did she manage to go on living when her love was taken from her? Especially so early in both of their lives. The grief didn’t consume her, Rem went on and lived another day, did new things, became a mother…

“Just proves I’ll always try to be just like you, Rem…” Vash forced a small smile, but it quickly wobbled away. He put his prosthetic hand over his face, unlike his flesh and blood one, it did not shake with worry, fear, anger, or grief. It stayed steady. “And I’ll never do it right.” His voice cracked and Vash took in a deep breath.

There had been so many things Vash had not asked Rem about. He had only known her a year, how was he supposed to know when the last day was going to arrive? He had only been a kid… Vash was sure Rem would’ve had advice, comforting words to help him move on. But a cynical thorn deep inside of him wondered if those hypothetical words would bring him any comfort at all. Afterall, Rem didn’t have to live with her loss forever, she eventually found death and release from that pain- even if it didn’t hurt her as much as it originally did.

Vash knew he would never be so lucky. For he was doomed to forever be the mourner, never the mourned. And how was that fair? Milly had told him in her last journal entry that it wasn’t his time… But just when would it be his time? Just for once, couldn’t Vash have a moment of ease? A gentle descent into the dark? He may have been able to dig a hole next to the others graves and lower himself into it, but he would never be in that comfortable eternal sleep with them.

Vash was tired, but not for sleep.

Feeling far away from his own body, Vash rose from the wooden porch, pulled open the screen door to the old farmhouse, and stepped inside. He walked by things without seeing them, without feeling. His body was on a mission that his brain didn’t quite understand yet. He found an old duffle bag in the closet and slapped the dust off of it. It felt like one second, Vash was picking up the bag and the next he was back on the porch. The duffle was full and Vash only hazily remembered filling it.

He peeked inside, almost curiously. Two of Milly’s journals with three different funeral programs and a photograph pressed between the pages, Wolfwood’s old lighter, his colt, and a full cantine were all that was inside. Vash pulled out the journal that held the photograph and opened it. It had the four of them, with Milly, Meryl, and Wolfwood looking much younger than they did when they left. They were standing in front of the house. It must have been the day they bought it. Picture in hand, Vash stepped off the porch and walked backwards away from the house. It was barely night anymore, the first sun would rise soon and dusk would be upon him. Vash looked from the photograph to the house. Changes never arose overnight, sometimes they were so subtle that it was impossible to see them until you were met with something from the past.

As Vash slipped the photo back into the journal, he hoped his partners wouldn’t mind him leaving. Surely it would be sadder for him to stay in that house all alone than to do what he had always been best at, running away. The first sun peeked over the horizon and Vash squinted at it, letting its light burn his eyes for a moment.

A flash of red drew his gaze away. On the scarecrow in Meryl’s garden, there was a rather tattered and sun bleached looking coat. Under all of its age and wear, Vash could still spy the original red.

Vash met the scarecrow with a sad smile. “Hello, old friend.” He pulled the coat from the stick body of the garden’s guardian, and put it on. The fabric felt stiff and tight, but Vash knew he would grow used to it.

Vash picked up his duffle and gave one last look towards the house. It was a headstone, a marker to the life that had been lived inside it. If only he could die with that life, that sliver of time he had spent with the others…

And for not the first or the last time, Vash began to walk away.