Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In the land of Gunsmoke, where things such as evil curses and friendly spirits really exist, it's quite a misfortune to be the oldest child in an orphanage. Everyone knows it means you’re an unlovable failure who can never be adopted and will never have a family.

Well, that suits Wolfwood just fine.

The orphanage was close enough to a family back when he had it. But the other thing about being an orphan— especially the eldest—is that you’re a strain and a burden. Even when the matron of Hopeland Orphanage, Miss Melanie, tried to make him feel special, he saw the struggle to feed every kid and have a bed for every body.

When some shifty asshole named Chapel showed up at the door, refusing to walk away without a kid for an “apprenticeship,” Wolfwood didn’t like him. Though the weird guy definitely liked him, saying he had talent and potential and other garbage Wolfwood knew wasn’t true. He hadn’t been adopted for a reason . But then he said Wolfwood would get paid, and, well… Wolfwood knew he wouldn’t have much time at his home left anyway, what with being around fourteen. At least this way, he’d get out with a job and a place to live. He’d even get to send the money back to the orphanage.

But, of course, that flattery and promise of moving up in the world was thinly veiled bullshit. It’s been maybe ten years of basically slave labor at Micheal’s Workshop now—he can’t keep track of the time, and it doesn’t matter. It’s not like he even had a real birthday to begin with. And if he ever threatens to leave, Chapel said he’ll get another replacement kid that’ll be stuck just like Wolfwood is. So from dusk until dawn, he sits, he tinkers, and he carves toys for the kids that can afford them. It was what got his bastard boss’s eye on him back at the orphanage: his little wood carvings.

It’s been a long time since Wolfwood was a child who used to go out into the woods, gathering fallen branches to carve into trinkets to help the other kids keep their nightmares away. It feels like a whole other life now, really. The only reminder he has that it was real is one roughly carved bird he keeps in his pocket. Just a touchstone of what he’s working for, the kids that still need him, and that this isn’t how it always was.

Even if this is how it’s always gonna be.

He sighs, letting his head thunk against the window of his little nook in the workshop. His work here keeps the orphanage afloat. It’s not much money—it’d be barely enough for him to live by if he were on his own—but it helps get the kids meals and that’s what matters. That’s all that matters. After everything that the orphanage had given to him, the way Miss Melanie had smiled when she first welcomed him home…

It’s worth it.

And if he tells himself that enough, it’ll have to be true.

“Right?” He murmurs to the little cat carving in his hand. “You’ll keep the little ones safe while I’m not around, right?”

The wooden cat, naturally, doesn’t say anything back. It doesn’t keep Wolfwood from chatting to it as he works, though. He spends time gossiping with his creations, giving them orders about caring for the little ones that take them home—anything and everything

Chapel’s off frolicking the fuck about who knows where most of the time these days, knowing Wolfwood’s old enough and too tired to act out. The shopkeepers and other assistants that aren’t trapped like him and come and go, leaving him alone more often than not.

If he doesn’t talk to the damn toys, he’ll lose his mind.

He considers nicking the little creature, wasting Chapel’s supplies and pissing him off—but he’s hit his monthly allowance of screw-ups. Any more and Chapel will notice and then there’ll be a punishment. His scabs have healed over from the last round probably years ago now, but the scars remain.

“Are you heading out tonight?”

Wolfwood jumps, nearly chucking the little feline across the room at the voice.

Ah, just Dominique. Maybe the least offensive of Chapel’s minions—he won’t chew her out.

Not this time, at least.

“Why would I go out?” Wolfwood tucks his head down, turning his focus back to the carving. “Chapel would skewer me alive if I’m not working or sleeping. Heaven forbid I need the time to take a shit.”

“Gross.” He doesn’t have to look up to know exactly how she’s wrinkling her nose and sneering at him. “It’s the anniversary of Lost Julai, idiot. The festival for the dead is tonight.”

Wolfwood arches an eyebrow as he scrapes away at a wooden ear. “And what would that have to do with me?”

“Chapel won’t be here. He’s meeting up with those goons of his, and the shop will be closed since it’s already late.”

Wolfwood hesitates for just a second before continuing to chip away at the little feline taking shape in his palm. “Sounds like you’re trying to enable my hooligan ways.”

Dominique snorts. “You’re a shut-in, you have been since he dragged you over here for basically servitude. No matter what he calls you, you wish you were a ‘hooligan.’ You don’t cause a lick of trouble nowadays. I miss when you were a little shit.”

Wolfwood grits his teeth and stays mindful of not accidentally slicing his finger off. “Whatever, grandma. Have fun celebrating dead people.”

She walks through the workshop toward the exit, muttering the whole time about how he’s ungrateful and a bastard, nothing that he bothers to pay much attention to. But she does pause at the doorway. “Be careful if you decide to be a grown-ass adult and head out, though. They say that the Humanoid Typhoon has been spotted around. Ballsy considering he’s the one who blew Julai off the face of the planet, but maybe that’s just how someone like him operates.”

“Vash the Stampede? In December ?” A chill runs down Wolfwood’s spine, even if he keeps it from showing. “Maybe he’ll destroy this place while he’s here and we’ll all be free of this hellhole shop.”

She snorts again. “We can dream, yeah? Still, be careful. Got it?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m not a kid anymore, y’know.” 

“Then stop acting like one and get out of here. It… Listen, I know you don’t want to hear it, but it’s hard not to worry about you. You deserve better, you obstinate bastard. Chapel’s using you, and you know it.”

“And what am I supposed to do? Run so he can steal another kid?” Wolfwood huffs out a dry laugh. “Go on, enjoy your night. I’ll keep what you said in mind.”

She rolls her eyes as she leaves, the door clicking shut, and the silence goes from deafening to claustrophobic.

The fact is that Wolfwood should go out tonight. The toys he “accidentally” messes up and Chapel tells him to toss don’t get thrown out—they’re hidden under a floorboard beneath Wolfwood’s cot. He sneaks them out to the orphanage any chance he gets, but… It’s been a while . There’s no more room in his little cubbyhole. He needs to take them, and he should be jumping for joy.

But he isn’t.

He wants to stay curled up in his little cubby. This is what he knows. And he’s not scared of the outside, but it’s just hard. Even if he has every godsdamn nook and cranny of the place memorized to the point it’s driving him insane. For fuck’s sake, he’s barely left his corner since he came here—and it’s killing his back.

But every trip he gets closer to being caught. Every trip he’s reminded of what he left behind. Every trip he has to come back here and leave his family again.

It would be so much easier if he could place his fear on the Humanoid Typhoon being in town—because, yeah, a witch that powerful is terrifying. He’s seen the shit that Chapel can pull off, and has pulled off on Wolfwood. And anyone who can blow up a city? He didn’t see it himself, hell no one even talked to him about it, but he heard everyone gossiping for months about it a couple years ago. He even muttered to his little creations about how Vash the Stampede should go and fuck off to where no one could ever find him, but no one listens to the insane mutterings of the master’s apprentice.

Doesn’t matter how fucked up the guy is, he wouldn’t bother with a backwoods town like this.

No, he’s safe to go out.

Even if it doesn’t feel safe.

But Dominique’s right. Wolfwood gets a small window to get out when Chapel goes out drinking and playing games with his associates, but this is the easiest out he’s had in a while. He doesn’t have another choice.

Before he can back out of his decision, he gets up and cracks his back and knees back into place—he’s really got to stop sitting like that—before taking the steps two at a time to the closet that his bed is shoved into. He almost knocks the nasty old mop onto his cot as he moves it off the floor to yank up the old floorboard, revealing an array of different, colorful toys that all have some small flaw. Typically a major nick if it’s one of Wolfwood’s pieces, Midvalley’s little instruments that can’t hit a tune quite right, sometimes there’s a tear or bad stitching that Dominique can’t fix, and other stupid stuff that the other people here do. They all make high-quality work that Chapel thrives off of, and it sometimes makes Wolfwood wonder if maybe they caught on to what he’s doing and are helping out.

Doesn’t matter, though—no one’s ratted him out. And he’s gotta have at least twenty toys here. So he yanks his pillow out of its case, fills it up, and off he goes. He pushes out the door—

And he almost walks right back in.

It’s not quite dark out, but it’s loud . The shop isn’t even on the busiest street, but there are people and horses and carriages, everyone’s talking and everything’s deafening. And there are fucking fireworks ? He knows the city of December is close to the crater of Julai, but he’s never gone out into the festivities honoring the dead before. His breathing picks up and he presses against the door for a second, glancing around.

Is Chapel here? Is he going to get caught? He hasn’t felt this exposed since he was a kid on the streets, hiding from the adults who had only ever hurt him, and he needs out .

Wolfwood bolts away from the shop and down the alleyway next to it, hopping over a fence and cutting through someone’s garden until he gets to another alley. He knows this path well, he always takes it out from the center of December to the outskirts, the area known as Hopeland. It’s as familiar as anything outside of the shop can be to him, but he hadn’t been planning on needing to take it.

He pauses at a crossroads where he could take a right back out to the street, or keep crawling around the back alleys like the rodent he feels like. He wants to say he’s better than this, but he isn’t. He’s still just some useless sack of flesh that never amounted to much. He follows Chapel’s orders, keeps his head down, and does his job like a good little boy. So what if Chapel catches him? Why shouldn’t he be able to leave when the shop’s closed and everyone else leaves? That’s it, he’s gonna—

A sob echoes through the alleyway in the opposite direction of the street, barely audible above all the noise.

Wolfwood freezes. It’s really none of his fucking business whatever someone’s doing in some abandoned corner of town while there are festivities happening everywhere else. But his feet carry him farther from the street and toward the noise before he can even think about it. Because he’s been there. He’s been that kid hiding away from everything, just trying to survive. He absolutely refused to cry where anyone might see, even when he first arrived at the orphanage. And since he’s heading toward the orphanage anyway, if it is a kid that needs help…

But it’s not a kid. It’s an adult, maybe even a pretty tall one—it’s hard to tell with how they’re curled up into themselves, crimson coat or cloak wrapped around them and hood up and obscuring their face.

Wolfwood slows, coming to a stop not too far away. Again, not his business. He shouldn’t involve himself. And yet…

“Hey, you okay there?” Not exactly the best line to start with since they’re obviously not okay. Dominique’s probably right about him being a shut-in. He even avoids talking with his other co-workers, and they avoid him most of the time, too—no one gets close to Chapel’s favorite kid without getting an earful. Even if he’s not a kid anymore.

“I-I’m fine!” A voice squeaks out, the person looking up enough that Wolfwood can use make out a fake as shit smile.

It shouldn’t, but something in Wolfwood’s chest cracks at that expression. He’s seen plenty of kids covering up their own pain for others, and it looks just like that except worse . This person’s able to perfectly hide the wobble of their lip, even though tears still drip down their chin and their shoulders shake.

“Hey man, it’s fine if you don’t want to tell me, but you don’t gotta lie to me about it.” Wolfwood raises his hands.

They flinch, that little bit of face ducking under the veil of that red hood again. “Sorry. It’s fine, really. I-I’ll survive. Sorry to ruin your evening.”

Wolfwood scoffs. “It’s not yours to ruin. I’ve ruined it all on my own already, so there.”

The guy—seems to be a guy, at least—just flinches, not saying another word.

Well, Wolfwood fucked this right up, didn’t he? It might be almost a decade since he left the orphanage, but he is and always will be a reject of a human being. 

Doesn’t seem like this guy is faring much better, though. Maybe he’s having some one-off bad night instead of a lifetime of screwing things up whenever he doesn’t keep his head down, but it sucks regardless. He doesn’t need to feel any worse about it, especially not for Wolfwood. Especially not with what tonight is supposed to be about.

Wolfwood takes another couple steps closer, enough to be within reach, before kneeling down and setting his pillowcase on the cobblestones. “It’s about Julai, huh?”

The guy curls up a bit tighter before it seems like he catches himself, trying to relax and failing.

“A lot of people have losses with that whole thing.” Wolfwood tries to keep his voice soft despite its gruffness. “It’s alright to go cry with others, y’know?”

“No.” The gentleness in the man’s tone is gone, his voice like steel. He turns to look at Wolfwood over a pair of wide glasses with eyes so pale and so blue they almost glow in the dim light, a small beauty mark pressed beneath his eyelashes on his left side. “It’s not my place. It was stupid of me to come here, to try and— It doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about me.”

“You deserve to grieve.” Wolfwood hesitates for one moment, eyeing his bag of toys. He needs to get them to the orphanage; those kids are grieving too, in their own way. Regardless of where or when, they all lost their parents. But this guy also needs some comfort right now. 

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small bit of carved wood, old and worn and light, tossing it into the guy’s lap. “When you can’t escape your thoughts and it feels like too much, follow the grooves in that. It’s helped m— kids, a lot of kids that’ve lost their parents. You deserve to feel what you’re feeling, and you deserve a break from it, too.”

The man hesitates a moment before reaching down and picking up the little bird in his lap. He holds it delicately, turning it around a few times before bringing it close to his face.

“ Oh ,” he says gently, like the bird in his gloved palm is real and precious in some way.

Wolfwood cringes. Gods, it really does look like a child carved it considering, well, a child did . He stretches a hand out toward the man. “Never mind, I forgot how ugly that thing is. I can get you something different, or better, or—”

“Nope!” The man is on his feet in a flash, dancing a couple of steps back as his hood falls around his shoulders, revealing a wild head of blonde hair that sticks every which way with darker strands cropped shorter at the base of his neck, and an earring with a feather at the end swinging wildly from his left earlobe. “No take backsies!”

Wolfwood snorts. If it weren’t for the fact that this guy was about as tall as him, he’d think maybe he was a child. What kind of person launches into that kind of emotional whiplash? Wolfwood reaches for the bird again. “C’mon, it’s not that great.”

The guy clutches the bird to his chest. “Don’t say that, it’ll hear you! Besides...” He lifts the little bird up to eye level. “There’s a lot of love put into this. Are you sure you’re okay parting with it? No, it must be too much.”

Now it’s Wolfwood’s turn to back away. “Damn, if you like it that much, it means more to you than it does to anyone else. Keep it, blondie.”

The man’s eyes almost seem to glitter behind his glasses as he looks at Wolfwood, and Wolfwood squirms. “You’re positive? You were just trying to take it back.”

“Because it’s a bad carving, it’s one of my first. I should probably just throw the damn thing out already.” Wolfwood glances down at his shoes. He doesn’t think he could, honestly, for all it means to him. It’s probably better that it’s out of his hands regardless. That junk is doing something for this guy, and Wolfwood should stop clinging to the past like he has been for too long.

It’s never coming back to rescue him from his present. All he has is now, and that has to be enough.

“That would be a shame. The past… It hurts, yes, but someday you’ll wish you had something to remember it by. I’ll tell you what, I’ll hold onto it for safekeeping until you’re ready for it back.”

Wolfwood arches an eyebrow. “I don’t even know you. You don’t even know me .”

“Exactly.” The guy says the word with such satisfaction, like it’s proving some kind of point. “So, here.”

He reaches into the pocket of his cloak, then grabs Wolfwood’s hand, the soft fabric of his gloves brushing his skin, and presses something into it. “If you ever need help, for any reason, I’ll help you same as you helped me. Call to me and you’ll reach me. Okay?”

“What are you, some kind of witch?” Wolfwood snorts, even as his hair stands on end.

Wolfwood’s known a few magic workers throughout his life, and none of them were particularly scary or awful outside of Chapel. There’s something just a little off about this guy, though. And magical objects are a gamble at best.

“Something like that.” The guy smiles again, a genuine warmth reaching his eyes. “Thank you, Wolfwood. Kindness isn’t a gift given lightly these days.”

“You looked like you needed it. Besides, it’s nice to see that you can actually smile. It looks good on you, spikey.”

The man’s face falls a bit. “W-what?”

“You’re not good at faking it, y’know. You deserve to grieve, and you deserve to smile. Everyone does.” Wolfwood glances down at his palm, and… it’s a flower? Or, well, a cluster of flowers as red as that man’s coat is. It feels strange in his palm, almost tingling. Maybe he’s just making it up since he knows that the man probably isn’t lying about the whole magic thing, but—

Wolfwood freezes, glancing back up. “Wait, how did you know my name?”

But by the time he looks around, the red-cloaked man is gone.

Chapter Text

Wolfwood sticks to his usual back alley paths after the encounter—but if anyone asked him whether he was looking for or avoiding the weird guy in his red cloak, he honestly couldn’t tell them.

What he does know is that he reaches Hopeland Orphanage earlier in the day than he has in a while.

Usually when he arrives, it’s quiet. All the kids are in bed—hell, Wolfwood would typically be in bed at that hour if he wasn’t sneaking out—and he’d just drop the toys on the front step, maybe sneaking a chat with Livio if he feels like he can. That’s not a regular occurrence these days, though. Which is fine with him. If Miss Melanie ever gets the chance to catch him, she’d worry over him and feed him, and the chances of him getting caught go through the roof the longer he’s out.

Luckily, Miss Melanie isn’t out and about in the fenced courtyard, so he’s dodged that bullet. Instead, all the kids are out and about, running, playing, and laughing.

Wolfwood steps into the shadows, and for a moment, he feels like he’s young again. Afraid of Miss Melanie catching him, yeah, but in a way different than how he’s fearful of Chapel. Here, it feels like maybe he ran off to gather some wood for carving, or to capture some lightning bugs, or that one time he stole a caretaker’s cigarettes and tried to smoke them and nearly died choking. It was so different. It was easier .

He’s not the same person he was back then. He’s just an echo of a human being. Everyone had such high hopes for him when he left, and yeah, the support he gives the orphanage is more important than anything else, but…

Looking at them, seeing all their joy and potential, is like a cruel mirror to the man he wanted to be when he grew up. He’s pathetic. He’s pointless. He’s the ghost of what a human being should be.

He can’t face the kids like this.

Instead, he slinks back into his alleyways and nooks, and wraps around the rear of the building. The kitchen entrance will be open this time of day. He just has to drop off the toys and—

“Nico?”

Fuck .

Wolfwood winces as he shuts the door a little too loudly behind him, turning to face the room. “Hi, Liv.”

Livio stands completely still, knife halfway sliced through a potato, a huge stock pot almost full of them sitting on the counter beside him. For a second, Wolfwood’s hindbrain tells him to run, that he’d paused ifor too long, that he’s unwelcome here after so long of being useless, and there’s a knife between him and a man he once considered a brother. It doesn’t help that Livio’s grown into a massive block of a man, ridiculously fit from the labor of chasing after children and caring for them, his silver hair cut short after one too many incidents with toys and food getting caught in it.

Then Livio breaks into a massive grin, and Wolfwood’s skin pricks with the weight of shame digging in for ever thinking that Livio, of all people, is frightening. Gods, what’s wrong with him?

Before he can slink out of the building in shame, Livio charges at him and wraps Wolfwood in a hug so tight he can barely breathe. “Man, it’s been ages! How are you holding up? What’s been going on? It’s had to have been… months, at least!”

“I mean, y’know,” Wolfwood manages to squeeze out of his compacted lungs. “Same as always. How about you?”

“Eh, you know how crazy it can get here, it takes up every waking second.” Livio laughs as he finally releases his grip, and Wolfwood takes a second to reinflate his chest.

It’s almost surreal to think of Wolfwood tucked into his small corner of the workshop while insanity haunts every moment of Livio’s day, though Wolfwood doesn’t doubt it. The two of them, especially Wolfwood, were primary contributors to that chaos as kids.

“I just came to drop off some things.” Wolfwood dumps the toys onto the kitchen counter, not daring to lose the pillowcase—after so long of relative quiet, it would suck if Chapel got suspicious of him again. 

“This is a huge haul!” Livio’s eyes light up like he’s small again, poking at a few of the goods in awe. “Aren’t you gonna get in trouble for it?”

Wolfwood shrugs. “They’re all rejects meant for the trash. Nobody will miss them.”

Livio’s eyes narrow at him, seeing the non-answer for what it is. That’s the thing about growing up together: you get to know each other’s tells too well.

“Anyway, I should be going.” Wolfwood turns, heading for the door. “Don’t know when Chapel will get back, you know how he is.”

Livio used to help treat Wolfwood’s wounds from that bastard when he first began visiting, before he started keeping his head low and hiding them. It only worried Livio to see them, and it’s not like anyone could do anything to help him. Wolfwood wouldn’t walk away and let another kid go through all of that. He knows how it feels to finally be free of parents that hurt you and then go right back into that bullshit. Having someone know what was going on would’ve only made things worse, and Wolfwood had survived fine on his own.

“Wait.” Livio grabs at Wolfwood’s wrist, firm but gentle. “You should talk to Miss Melanie before you go. We were hoping you’d show up at our doorstep soon.”

Wolfwood grimaces as he glances back at Livio. He needs to get out . Not because Chapel will be back soon—he probably won’t—but because this is just too much . “Don’t talk about me like I’m some stray animal.”

“Well then, stop acting like one.” Livio arches an eyebrow.

“I’ve gotta go before Chapel catches me.” Wolfwood tugs at Livio’s grasp a little, knowing he could get free but wanting to be let go.

“Wait! Wait. Please. We need you, Nico, just wait.”

“Need me?” Wolfwood sneers. “Nobody needs me. I’ve been left behind by everyone, I’m nobody and nothing. There’s nothing to need about me.”

“Don’t talk about yourself like that.” Livio’s voice dips, quiet but deep and serious.

Wolfwood laughs. “Don’t say it how it is? Miss Melanie hasn’t seen me in years, and I don’t want her to. No one needs to see me. I’m sorry you had to. In fact, I—”

Wolfwood cuts himself off as Livio’s face shifts. His lips pull back, and his eyes furrow as his hand tightens around Wolfwood’s wrist into a clamp he can no longer escape.

Wolfwood’s mind snaps back to Chapel grabbing hold of him, restraining him, and— No, this isn’t that. It’s Livio. Or at least it kind of is.

It’s been a while since Razlo’s tried to make an appearance from wherever he rests in Livio’s mind—not that Wolfwood’s around much, but still. With Livio feeling so safe for so long, that part of him’s been soothed into something less constant. Razlo isn’t a bad guy by any measure, but he is a little more immature and reactive, and he only comes out if…

“I didn’t mean to upset you, Liv, Raz. I’ll hear you out. Sorry, I just…”

Livio takes a moment to breathe, staring at their point of contact until he finally meets Wolfwood’s eyes again. “I know you’re stressed, too. You’ve got it rougher than I’ve ever got it here.”

Wolfwood arches an eyebrow, giving a snort. “You’re telling me that a gaggle of hooligan children is easier than carving a few toys?”

“The entire city’s worth of kids is better than Chapel.” Livio doesn’t give in to Wolfwood’s light tone. If anything, his expression drops and darkens further. “I remember what he used to do to you. And the town talks, y’know?”

Wolfwood’s hackles rise. He knows he should get the conversation back on track and get out of here now that things are diffused, but… He never thought anyone else grasped the situation. He thought everyone outside of Livio knew Chapel as a saint. “What do they talk about?”

“He gets up into shady shit. Black magic and back alley deals, like his shop isn’t enough. Ever since you’ve been working there, kids have been going nuts over your toys. They say they’re instant nightmare cures, that they’ll protect ‘em even—hell, a few kids said that your toys do the same things here. It’s incredible, and the man is using you and worse .”

Wolfwood rolls his eyes. “That’s kid talk, Liv. You hang around ‘em all day, you know.”

“Yeah, but I also know what Chapel pays you since you send that money here. And considering what you do for him, that it’s the toys you make that keeps him flaunting about in fancy cloaks and lavish carriages, it’s criminal. He’s paying you basically nothing. You’re his slave. He’s out and about making the problems that kids feel they need to be protected from with your toys for shields while you rot.”

Wolfwood sighs. It’s nothing he didn’t already know. Or at least nothing he didn’t already suspect. “I know. And what am I supposed to do about it? Leave? Doom some other poor kid to this fate? Nothing I make is special, I just learned to be good at it over the years. Anyone else he finds will have the same years of training I had.”

“You really think we’d let Chapel take anyone else from here after what he put you through?” Livio’s face twists again, but it’s more himself than someone else.

Wolfwood takes half a step closer. “Did you tell Miss Melanie?”

“No, but maybe I should —”

“Don’t.” Wolfwood twists his wrist in Livio’s grasp, holding him in return. “You know how she’d feel if she knew. It’s better this way, anyway. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Yes, you do.” Livio looks at him so earnestly, with so much care, that Wolfwood has to look away. “I know you won’t believe me, but you do. In fact, that’s what I want to talk to you about. We need you.”

Wolfwood scoffs, but Livio keeps talking before he can get a word in.

“Miss Melanie is retiring, and we need you back here.”

Wolfwood’s head snaps back to Livio as he gapes. It’s not like he’s unaware of the passage of time. It eats at him daily as he literally and figuratively whittles his life away. Melanie wasn’t that old when he was growing up, but that’s kinda how it works, isn’t it? You’re not old until you are.

Miss Melanie, though… She’s always been eternal in his mind. A bastion of safety for kids who needed it. It feels like the world shouldn’t be able to go on without her, but…it’s gonna have to someday, huh?

Looking to Wolfwood to help out, though?

“I already told you why I can’t leave.” The words leave Wolfwood’s mouth feeling hollow and weightless. “Chapel—”

“You could stop Chapel yourself if you came.” Livio almost sounds excited about it, like it’s something he’d want to see.

And Wolfwood almost does, too—but not enough to risk the status quo. Not enough to change. “But then where would you get the money from?”

“We’ll make it work, Nico. We can get odd jobs.” There’s a light in Livio’s eyes, something that looks an awful lot like hope that neither of them should have.

“Can we? Can you guarantee that?” Wolfwood’s eyes fall to the floor, shoving aside how they sting with the tears of a future he absolutely cannot have. He refuses to cry for something that doesn’t exist. “It’s easier to make sure he doesn’t target any kids while I’m with him. He can’t just grab someone off the street that way. And I’m getting the orphanage steady money that you won’t find anywhere else. Working odd jobs is unreliable at best and you know it. Besides, it’s been years since I’ve lived here, and I haven’t been around kids other than them buying crap from the shop. I’m not cut out for being around ‘em. If this is a joke, it’s not funny.”

“It’s not . I’ve been asking you to come home for years, Nico. And here’s your chance .”

Wolfwood refuses to look up, he refuses to move . It’s everything he wants. Everything that he said he can’t have. It’s cruel to wave it in front of his face like this when it makes no sense for him to have it. He doesn’t think that Livio’s trying to be cruel; that wouldn’t be like him, or Razlo, or Miss Melanie. But it’s still a cruel question, lacking an answer that isn’t heartbreaking.

He has nothing to give these kids. Sure, he knows how to clean and cook, but the only other skill he’s got is making toys and trinkets for kids to outgrow. He doesn’t know how to help them like Miss Melanie and Livio do, he isn’t immersed in their lives and needs like they are. How does he know if he’d even help? He would like to think he’d be like them, that he’d help more than hurt… but at this point in his life, he’s spent more time with Chapel than Miss Melanie. He knows how often shit habits are learned things—he’s seen it in so many kids.

How does he know he’s not just as bad as the people who hurt him?

“What are you thinking about?” Livio punches him lightly with his free hand, jarring Wolfwood out of his own head. “It doesn’t look good.”

Wolfwood scowls. “Y’know you can do better than me, Livio. I’m sure you can hire another caretaker.”

“We could, but they wouldn’t be you.”

And that’s the point. They wouldn’t be as pathetic and worthless as Wolfwood. The only value that he has in life is being the shield between Chapel and the orphanage, in sending them toys and money and keeping them afloat. His value isn’t in him as a person, but in what he can provide.

Livio sighs, probably reading more on Wolfwood’s face than he’d like. “Don’t do this to yourself, Nico. You’re not happy there. It… It feels wrong that I can sit here and have fun and be happy when I know you’re across town bent over, alone, and working for pennies—if you’re not being beat.”

“I haven’t been beaten in a long time,” Wolfwood’s voice is rough as he forces himself to unclench his fingers from around Livio’s wrist, hoping he didn’t fuck that up too and leave a bruise. “Sorry.”

“I grabbed you first.” Livio lets him go but uses his hand to clasp Wolfwood’s shoulder. “You okay?”

Wolfwood swallows, ignoring the lump trying to choke him. “Yeah. I… I have to get back to Micheal’s Workshop before Chapel realizes I’m gone.”

“Promise me you’ll think about it?” Livio makes sure to meet Wolfwood’s eyes, not letting him hide from this question, this situation, and his lack of a life.

Wolfwood takes a deep breath before he pulls away and starts toward the door. “I will.” 

Even though he wishes he could erase that thought and those hopes and never be tempted by them again.

Chapter Text

Wolfwood’s distracted, and Chapel’s about to wring his neck over it.

It’s not like he’s slacked off or screwed up more than usual, but he’s not responding as quickly as Chapel would like, and he can’t stop getting distracted. At this rate, he’s going to earn himself a punishment of some sort. That in and of itself doesn’t bother him; he knows that fear too well to flinch from it. But the way it reminds him that he really is kind of a piece of shit, well.

It doesn’t help him focus, that’s for sure.

There hasn’t been a single day where he doesn’t relive Livio’s conversation in his head at least a dozen times. There isn’t a second where he sits there, whittling away at this or that, where he isn’t thinking about what he’d be doing at the orphanage if he were there. There isn’t an inhale of breath where he doesn’t imagine all the ways he could let them down.

If he’s a failure in his own life, what would he be to those kids? He doesn’t think he’d hurt them like Chapel hurt him—but does he know he wouldn’t?

The rest of Chapel’s little gang keep eyeballing him, muttering among themselves while stealing glances at him. Maybe they’re circling around like vultures, waiting for Chapel’s favorite to falter so they can take his place—but they know the cost it takes to get that spot. Besides, it’s probably a pay downgrade even for them.

If he actually bothers to focus on them, he can see the furrowed brows and the small frowns, almost like they’re worried . Maybe they get it and they’re concerned they’ll end up like him. And, yeah, that could happen. If Wolfwood left and one of them took his place, it’d certainly make more sense than bringing another kid in. This isn’t the dingy, back alley shop it was when Wolfwood first moved here. Chapel may be shit at many things, but he does know how to grow a business.

But child labor is easy labor. Not to mention, if Wolfwood left, there goes all of his income for the kids. It’s better this way. Above all else, Wolfwood knows that being stuck here is the best outcome for any of them. And as long as he has a choice, he’ll stay.

But…

“Nicholas!” Chapel’s voice booms through the workshop, making Wolfwood grit his teeth.

Wolfwood used to like his given name until it started coming out of that man’s mouth. He looks up, finding the workshop empty save for himself and the haggard old man in the doorway, a slight breeze ruffling his hair from the window in his little nook. For the first time, it strikes him how frail the man is, his hair just wisps of white, his form hunched, and his eyes not nearly as sharp as they once were. Just like Miss Melanie must be older now, he’s not the giant, strong man that had Wolfwood all but tied up in this room for years. If Wolfwood got up and punched him out, he might not even get back up.

Which is more tempting than he’d ever admit out loud, but he doesn’t want to risk Chapel cutting his pay if he survives. And, really, isn’t he proving his point that he’s not suitable to be around kids if he’s sitting here fantasizing about violence?

“Good, your ears do work,” Chapel sneers, using his cane to step into the workshop. “I need you out front.”

Wolfwood arches an eyebrow. “Me? I thought I was the shame of your establishment and I’d rob you blind if I was given an inch of freedom.”

“You?” Chapel snorts. “You’ve been trained too well for that. Besides, the anti-theft spells would cut your hands clean off and you’d be on the streets being even more useless to society.”

A part of Wolfwood wants to bite back, to push and prove that he’s still the feral child who was dragged into this place. But Chapel’s right. Wolfwood’s been beaten into a perfect servant for longer than he cares to remember. “Fine. Why not use one of your trusted assistants?”

Chapel heaves a sigh, like Wolfwood’s wasting his time with all these questions and he’s tired of it. Which, if true: good . “I have urgent business, and everyone else is out for the rest of the day for the autumn festivities. Do you think you can handle it, or is it time I finally let you go to prove how worthless you really are?”

It’s a familiar threat and Wolfwood feels the fear clamp around his chest—and yet, Livio’s words ring around his head. “What, and you let go of your star worker that gets every parent’s wallet wide open?”

Chapel’s eyebrow twitches and… he doesn’t immediately contradict it.

Oh. Livio really wasn’t lying when he said it was Wolfwood’s carved toys making this shop so much money. But why? How ?

“You’re testing my patience. Do you really want to push your luck that badly?”

It’s Wolfwood’s time to heave a great sigh as he unfolds himself from his nook and stretches out his back before gathering what he was working on. “Fine. I’m bringing my work up front with me, though.”

“Good. Don’t scare away the customers or there will be consequences. You know I have ways of knowing.”

Wolfwood rolls his eyes—not because it’s an empty threat, because he knows it isn’t. But because it’s the same song and dance it’s been for, what, ten years? When someone holds a knife above a person’s head long enough, it just becomes part of the scenery. “Yeah, yeah, old man. I’m up.”

Chapel’s nostrils flare, but Wolfwood slips by him and into the hall leading up to the shop. “We’ll be talking about your sass later, young man!”

Wolfwood raises a hand to wave at the man without bothering to look back. The guy’s not senile, but he’ll likely be drunk and forget this even happened by the time he gets back. It’s not important, and both of them know nothing’s going to come of any of this. Wolfwood won’t step out of line. He hasn’t in a long time.

Does that make him a coward?

Wolfwood pauses as he steps into the shop’s parlor, feeling like he’s stepped into a different world as his thoughts grind to a halt. It’s always been such a facade out here, all gold trimming, red paint, and shiny, clean toys. Most days, Elendira’s the attendant up here, looking like royalty herself—he has no idea how she affords those kinds of clothes. Though maybe she’s been dragged into whatever dark magic side business Chapel has going, who knows. Regardless, he’s just as much of an imposter up here as he is back there.

He might snark and nip at people, but he’s got no real bite to him. It would be nicer to imagine that he never had any to begin with, that he never lost that part of him, but he remembers standing up to kids twice his size throughout his younger years at the orphanage. He remembers refusing to work for Chapel no matter what he did to him—he only stepped back in line when the orphanage was threatened.

And he hasn’t stepped out of line since.

Would that be the person he’d be if he stepped out of here tonight and never looked back, taking a post at the orphanage? Would he be a terrible influence? He certainly doesn’t know how to be a good one.

He sighs, sitting on the stool behind the counter and pulling the small trash can up from the floor. Even in this he’s so obedient and thoughtless. Chapel didn’t say he needed to do his work up here, Wolfwood just dragged everything out himself. It’s like he doesn’t even have thoughts of his own anymore, just Chapel’s.

Fuck that .

Wolfwood sweeps his arm across the counter, throwing his things across the room. The small pieces of wood and the metal of the tools clatter against the ground in a noise that’s deafening against the quiet of the room. He puts his head in his hands, finding them trembling even if he can’t exactly tell why . What does he even have to be upset about when there’s barely a him left in there? It just goes to show how there’s no use even considering going back to the orphanage. That sudden outburst of stupid, pointless violence—what if that was directed toward a kid?

Livio’s words shouldn’t be haunting him like they are. They shouldn’t be tempting him like they are. He’s too weak to fight off the thoughts, and he’s too stupid to let go of a dream that was dead before it even existed. He knows better. He’ll never be a stronger person, but he knows better .

The bell above the door tinkles.

Wolfwood’s head snaps up so fast he nearly strains his neck.

A man stands in the doorway, skin as pale as the white fur coat that he wears. It doesn’t take a genius to see the wealth this man must have in the quality of the pearly suit beneath his coat, in the fine trim of his short hair. He’s a little overdressed for the weather, honestly—the sun’s not fully down and the chill of fall is just beginning to creep in. Wolfwood’s a little shocked anyone even came in, if Chapel was right about the autumn festival to honor the local spirits being in full swing this evening.

Then the man meets Wolfwood’s eyes and he nearly falls off the stool.

For a split second, he looks exactly like the man Wolfwood met in the alleyway what has to be weeks ago—time winds into a tangle of days when every one of them’s the same, so he’s not sure. Wolfwood’s heart leaps into his throat, and he’s not sure if he’s excited or terrified the guy found him.

But… no. His hair is so pale it’s almost ghostly white, the same with his skin. He looks like he hasn’t seen the sun in days, whereas Wolfwood’s man looked a bit like the sun himself. He has a beauty mark, but it’s on the opposite side of his face. And when he meets Wolfwood’s gaze, his eyes are pale in a way that looks icy, like he’s dressed that way because he’s already frigid inside.

And then he glowers at Wolfwood, and all similarities to the stranger in the alley fly out the window. “It’s a mess in here, isn’t it?”

Wolfwood scrambles to his feet, knocking over the stool as he races around the corner and gathers his things as quickly as he can. “Sorry about that! Just had a bit of an accident before you walked in.”

The man lets out a hum of acknowledgement, managing to sound like an asshole even with that. Something’s got this guy’s panties in a twist. And it’s not like anything here can help him at all. Chapel likes to play at running some fancy establishment or whatever, but they make average toys that do average things. Someone dressed like this obviously belongs in one of the more legit cities, closer to the capital. Elendira might have been able to schmooze the guy at least, but with Wolfwood at the counter?

It’s best they both give up while they’re ahead.

But by the time Wolfwood’s collected everything and settled back behind the counter, brushing his things to the side, the guy still hasn’t left. 

Wolfwood just barely holds back a sigh. “What can I help you with, sir?”

The man looks down his nose at Wolfwood. “Bold of you to think you could help me .”

He might be able to fight off the urge to shove this guy out the door, but Wolfwood’s eye twitches nonetheless. “Then why are you here? You’re at a business. We have services. I can see you’re… refined , I guess, so you know this obviously isn’t a place for you. Heaven help any kids if you have them.”

“Children?” The man laughs, though there’s no humor to it. “I’m not so pathetic that I’d need to reproduce. You have some nerve, don’t you? Talking to a spirit like this.”

Wolfwood stiffens in his seat, grabbing the edge of the counter. He knows about spirits, everyone does. They’re in everything, they make up the magic and life of the whole world. Every person’s got one, but so does every rock and tree, and they say even houses do. Most seem to be simple things, but the powerful ones can take whatever form they like. Wolfwood doesn’t think he’s ever seen one before—until now, apparently.

That, or he’s just trying to be an asshole and scare Wolfwood.

“Then what do you want?” Wolfwood grits out, eyes flitting around the room as he tries to figure out what to do. He could run, but at best he’d piss off a spirit, and at worst he’d piss off Chapel. And it’s not like his own spirit’s got a hint of magic to fight the guy off with if this maybe-spirit is telling the truth.

“I wanted to see what has my silly brother all worked up enough that he’d use magic while outside of his sanctuary.” He strides up to the counter, picking up the cat that Wolfwood’s been meaning to finish up for what’s gotta be weeks now—no wonder Chapel’s frustrated with the pile of half-finished projects he’s got going. “What’s this supposed to be? Safety? Protection? Pathetic. A bit like you, really.”

Brother ? Things are starting to click together for Wolfwood, and he’s not liking what he sees. Besides, do spirits even have siblings? Or is it like Livio and him? “Listen, pal. I spend almost every day in this shop, I don’t have any business with anybody. I don’t know why your brother’s lying to you, but I didn’t do anything to anyone.”

The man just eyes him for a long second before leaning in to smell Wolfwood like a creep. “If you don’t know him, then why do you reek of him, knave?”

Wolfwood sputters for a second, mind reeling. It’s been ages since he saw that crying guy on Julai’s anniversary, he sure as hell shouldn’t smell like him. Though… He keeps the flowers he was given in the pocket of his pants. He meant to borrow a book to press them in, forgot about them for a couple of days in his room, and they’re somehow still fresh after all that and more. No matter what they go through, they look just-picked. He could hand them over to this guy, but…

Well, Wolfwood doesn’t want to.

First and foremost, it probably wouldn’t placate him. If anything, it might make him worse—the guy seems a little too obsessed with his brother. And second, Wolfwood was gifted these. They’re his. It would be smart to remove himself from whatever’s going on here and give up the flowers, but he doesn’t want to. Even if he can’t have his freedom, even if he has to give up on the orphanage, even if he’s a well-beaten and useless fraud of a human being, he can keep this much. Sure, it’s a stupid hill to die on, but the flowers are his .

“You obviously think you’re too good for anything here. You don’t even have any kids to buy for. You’re just being an asshole to some employee you don’t even have business with just because you can.” Wolfwood spits out at him. “I don’t know what you want, and I can’t help you.”

“Oh, you’ll be helping me.” The man glances down at the roughly carved cat in his hand again before turning back to Wolfwood with a smile so cold it makes shivers crawl down his spine. “You’re a bit of a mangy, feral thing like this, aren’t you? Something to be owned and used. And I will be using you. You’ll find my brother, and you will lead me to him. If you can fulfill that much, the curse will be lifted. Do you understand?”

Wolfwood opens his mouth, fully intending to tell the man to fuck off, but his voice strangles in his throat. He tries grabbing at his neck, but his hands and arms won’t move quite right. The world shifts and tilts, his view slipping beneath the counter as he falls over. His brain feels like mush as he tries to get back up, but nothing’s working how it should. Even his eyes are blinded by the dim shop lights for a second.

When the man leers over the counter at Wolfwood, he looks absolutely massive. What did that bastard do ?

“Oh, poor thing,” he pretends to coo, but he can’t stop the underlying glee from driving the pitch of his voice up a little too high. “It looks like your human age carried over to your new body. Better start looking for my brother before your heart gives out on you. In the meantime, enjoy being treated like the mangy stray that you are.”

The pale head disappears, and Wolfwood tries to scramble after him, tripping on something—cloth, maybe?—as he flails on all fours around the corner, his joints aching so much they almost burn as he goes. He must’ve hit the ground hard.

He can’t keep up, getting to the door as it swings closed, and he reaches out to catch it and push it open—

It smacks him in the face, sending him sprawling back across the ground.

Wolfwood hobbles back semi-upright on his weird-feeling limbs as he struggles toward the door, where he pauses.

The handle absolutely should not be that high. Nor should his feet be bare and on the floor, especially while crawling like this.

And when he glances at the reflection in the door’s glass, his face doesn’t look back at him.

But a cat’s does. 

Chapter Text

Even as he blinks and the cat blinks, his ear twitches and the cat’s ear twitches, and the cat takes a deep breath as he does—it doesn’t feel like that thing is Wolfwood.

It can’t be Wolfwood. 

He’s a human being. He’s always been a human being. Sure, transformation spells exist to a degree, but those are more illusions than anything. He shouldn’t have an actual tail he feels flicking, right? The sensation of his whiskers trembling a bit as he scrunches them forward shouldn’t be so real. He shouldn’t feel all the movements he sees the cat make. It should be like a human’s body shoved into a cat-shaped meat puppet, not like he’s feeling his own cat-shaped body move.

But he does.

He’s a little mangy to look at, honestly—his black coat seems a little ill-kept and ragged, his canines poke out from his lip a little, and his claws don’t retract all the way like they’re supposed to with a cat. And just because he can’t do anything right, he isn’t even a proper black cat. Instead, he has a little starburst of white in the center of his chest. His eyes are the same color, if slightly clouded in the way he’s seen happen with old people. He’s a larger cat, not abnormally huge, but enough that he’d take note of his size on the street. And yet he still feels tiny .

The door handle is so high above him that it’s almost comical. He could touch that thing while barely lifting his arm before. The toys around him look like they were made for giants, the rocking horse a few feet away glowering menacingly at him. He doesn’t even know if he could jump up onto the counter; he doesn’t want to try.

He needs to get back to work. He needs to report back to Chapel about all of this. He needs Livio, he needs home —

But he can’t have that, can he?

He can’t talk like this. Nothing about him looks the same except for his eyes, and no one’s going to assume that some cat with eyes the same color as his is secretly a human. Maybe someone more familiar with magic might know enough about curses and spells or whatever the hell this is to fix it, but he doubts that. Whatever those damn brothers are, they’re something most humans haven’t encountered. This curse alone is something else. Not to mention, he’s never heard of a spell that kept flowers from wilting permanently before, but—

The flowers .

Wolfwood scrambles away from the door, or at least he tries to. It’s like he’s been shoved into his alcove for a little too long, and his joints are protesting every move as he scrapes his claws along the hardwood floors and back around the corner. He digs through his clothes for an achingly long few minutes, sorely missing opposable thumbs, before he finds his pocket. After a brief scuffle where his claws get stuck, he manages to delicately take hold of the flowers with his teeth and drag them out from their prison of fabric, just as vibrant green and red as ever.

The kinder of the brothers had said to call and he’d help, right? So Wolfwood opens his mouth and—

He nearly jumps out of his skin as a croaking yowl escapes his mouth, making him scramble back. Which is fucking stupid. He’s a cat , apparently, what did he expect? He tries to clear his throat, which makes a weird, choking-like sound before he tries again. No matter how he tries to manipulate his tongue and lips, nothing word-like will come out. But that shouldn’t matter, right? It’s all about intent, that’s how spells translate across different languages.

But the flower doesn’t do a damn thing.

He knows, rationally, he should be afraid. This isn’t a small problem. This isn’t him fucking up a carving or getting caught by Livio sneaking toys into the orphanage. This is his life. The icy-pale man said he was his human age in cat form, and he knows they don’t live up to his age often. On top of that, if he can’t change back, Chapel will punish the orphanage for abandoning Micheal’s Workshop. He can’t even pretend to daydream about going back there—he will be dead. 

He’s not really scared, though. He’s not even pissed. He’s just… numb. He’s standing there on four legs in a body that barely belongs to him and old enough he could just drop dead at any moment, but he can’t find it in himself to really care. It’s stupid. It’s all so fucking stupid. What did that guy think he was going to accomplish? If he has some issue with his brother, he should talk to his brother, not drag in some random guy who saw the man—spirit?—one time, weeks ago. Wolfwood’s doomed. He wants no part in this stupid drama, and he refuses. 

If anything, he’s gonna hunt down one of these brothers and give him a piece of his mind. He’s got the claws and the teeth to do it. It’s not like he can stay here—Chapel’s gonna immediately kick out some stray that he thinks snuck into his shop. The orphanage can’t afford to take in random animals off the street. He has no friends, no connections, no nothing. There isn’t anything left for him here or, well… anywhere.

That’s settled, then. Wolfwood leans down to grab hold of the flowers in his mouth—he never realized how much he took his hands for granted. 

And it tugs between his teeth like someone’s taken hold of it. Not trying to pull it away, just… nudging.

He drops it from his mouth, staring at it.

Weird. Wolfwood had hoped for some kind of magical transportation, either him popping up where the warmer brother was or the guy coming to Wolfwood. But if this thing is at least leading him somewhere, it’ll have to do.

For a moment, he eyes his clothes and his things, his mind wandering to the handful of toys he’d managed to tuck away in his room. But there’s no way for him to get them out, much less drag them across town. It’d probably be best if he didn’t have any of his belongings, anyway. At least Chapel will know he didn’t run away. If anything, his clothes on the ground should be a sign of foul play, and he should call someone for help.

But Chapel’s never given a damn about Wolfwood, has he? Screw him. Screw this shop and everything in it. Growling, low noises burst from his mouth as he tries the cat equivalent of muttering to himself. Fuck this guy and his shop and for stealing so much of Wolfwood’s life from him. He would give anything to be able to go back to the orphanage now that it’s not even an option anymore, but nothing can change that right now. He’s always wanted to go home, but all he ever had was this .

He hopes this place burns. All of it. He hopes that the entire town figures out exactly who Chapel is and that he’s never allowed to do any business here or deal with any kids ever again. Fuck that guy.

And screw that asshole that turned him into a cat. Wolfwood hopes that he never gets anything that he wants. He’s going to be as unhelpful as humanly—felinely?—possible. If he finds his brother, he will not give away his location. He’ll never get anything from Wolfwood. Even if he dies in this form, he’ll be as much of a hindrance as possible.

He might have wasted his life up until now, he might have been stuck and miserable and without options, but he’s going to make life as hard as fuck for everyone who treated him poorly when he was human. It suits him, doesn’t it? Being a cat, a tiny little feral thing that no one will notice. Maybe he refuses to change back. There’s something about it that’s freeing compared to his life up until now. Even being old and aching, it’s more than he’s had. So maybe he wants to stay like this just to spite that asshole.

If only he weren’t so small .

His hissing and spitting peters out as he’s left panting and standing there. He wishes there was a candle lit somewhere instead of the dim magical bulbs lighting the room far out of reach so he really could burn the place down, but that will have to wait. He’ll have to think of another way to get back at Chapel—if he lives that long. For now, he’s gotta get out of here. It’s just a matter of time before the bastard gets home from his errands.

Wolfwood scoops up the flowers in his mouth, and it tugs between his teeth again like it’s begging him to leave. He grumbles a little, trotting to the workshop where—there. The window’s still cracked open in his alcove. He jumps up to his seat with a bit of effort before leaping up, grabbing onto the edge of the window and scrabbling with little claws to try and find some grip before tumbling onto the other side. And he can confirm that cats don’t always land on their feet as he slams into the ground and the breath is knocked out of his lungs.

His bones ache even more, and he already feels the drag of exhaustion pulling on his muscles, but it could be worse. The autumn air would typically be cool to his skin, but he barely feels it in his scraggly fur coat. Even with whatever elderly eye stuff he has going on, he can see way more in the dim light of the alley he landed in than he normally would be able to. He can do this.

He gets up with a stretch, arching his back. Then he snatches up the flower from where it fell and lets it guide him along. He emerges onto the street, surrounded by towering giants, and part of him wants to cower and retreat like he did that one day ages ago.

But it doesn’t matter, does it? No one knows him, and if by a miracle someone does, they won’t recognize him. Barely anyone even glances at him, aside from a little girl pointing vehemently at the kitty holding a flower in his mouth.

He doesn’t have to hide. He doesn’t have to talk, and he’s barely even seen. He’s just a small shadow moving through town that no one will even look at.

He still sticks to the edges of the street as he trots along through the city, careful to avoid falling feet and shop owners with brooms. He’s just any old stray, a mirror of when he was a kid.

Just, y’know, kinda elderly and also a cat now.

Eventually, the houses spread farther and farther apart until he emerges into the farmland surrounding December, close to Hopeland. The sunset paints the sky in hues of red and purple while the air around him seems a hazy gold. Wolfwood can’t remember the last time he’s seen a sunset like this. He could see the sky from the tiny garden behind the toy shop, but the horizon was always blocked by other houses, and it’s not like he could just wander out of town. 

But now he’s able to lose himself wandering through the paths between crops, following the gentle tugging from his mouth. He can brush against the plant life around him, feel the dirt between his toes, and even stop and smell the flowers—if he drops his own greenery first.

After years upon years of being trapped in what was basically a tiny prison, the world feels so large that he doesn’t know what to do with it. It’s like he’s been underwater for a while and finally broke through to the surface for a breath of fresh air. A large part of him says that he should go back under, that this isn’t a world meant for him—but that’s not even an option. So the thought sinks back down into the strange serenity that’s overcome him since his curse took hold.

As the sun dips below the horizon, Wolfwood reaches the forest he used to explore and gather old, fallen branches from when he was younger. It took him way longer to get here than he thought it would, but he supposes his legs are even shorter than they were before puberty hit him like a steam train.

He hears so much as he wanders the forest, ears flicking this way and that as insects chirp and birds sing their lullabies to the sun. He’s even more grateful for his eyesight as the darkness wraps around his fur, the chill trying to grab at him and dig into his skin. He can even catch a whiff of the distant fires back in town…

And his stomach grumbles.

Oh. He hasn’t eaten since breakfast, and who knows how that translates to his new body.

Wolfwood pauses a moment, the forest around him bursting with the sights and sounds of life—of food. He’s a cat. Hunting can’t be that hard, right?

He starts stalking through the undergrowth, a little more aware of his movements and what noise he’s making. But nothing ever seems to be within reach. He tries to climb a tree after a bird, but it’s gone as soon as his paws leave the ground. He leaps after a mouse, but it’s ten times faster than his old bones.

Okay. Maybe it is that hard.

Once again, he tries to stop and think, but he’s tired . For a day that started off so ordinary, things went so wrong so quickly. Now he’s hours away from civilization, and even if he got back, he’d have to rely on someone being kind to some stray.

Isn’t the life of a cat supposed to be easy? Sunbathing, stealing scraps of food, being pet and loved? That requires a home, though. And Wolfwood hasn’t had a real one for most of his life.

Maybe he should just curl up and call it a day. Maybe he’ll luck out and get eaten by something larger and stronger than him—not exactly a high bar—in the night, and then he won’t have to worry about it in the morning. Then the icier of the brothers can’t use him, and then Wolfwood can stop thinking about the orphanage, about Chapel, and about his pathetic excuse of a life. If he could just—

There’s a rustling nearby, followed by soft, sweet chirping.

Wolfwood moves before he can think about it, loping through the undergrowth until he’s at the edge of a clearing. And there, dead center, is a baby bird.

The flower falls from his mouth as he drops into a crouch, moving as smooth as possible for a creature his age. He shifts his hind end from side to side, warming up the muscles before the poor little creature can look his way, and he pounces.

The chick doesn’t stand a chance, pinned beneath Wolfwood’s paws. A rush flows through him and it’s like he’s floating. He can do this. He can provide for himself, and he can survive this. Fuck Chapel and the life that he had to lead, he’s fine on his own.

He just… has to kill it.

The baby bird doesn’t fight for very long. Instead, it just breathes heavily as it looks at him with tiny, beady eyes. Its feathers are dark grey, almost black but with a colorful sheen to them. It obviously fell from its nest, and Wolfwood has no way of helping it. It’s probably kinder to put it out of its misery. He’ll get to eat, and it won’t be terrified any longer. But…

He can’t.

It’s just a baby, just another orphan of a different species. And he knows it’s stupid to feel so emotional about an animal like this, but… What is he, if not another animal? It’s a part of nature for things to die and be eaten, and if it were this chick’s mother beneath his paws, he might not hesitate. But a baby like this…

Wolfwood takes a deep breath. He’ll probably be able to hunt better in the morning, anyway. He glances around and finds a small hollow in a tree nearby. He goes back, grabs his flower, and sets it in there first. Then he does his best to grab the bird as it flaps its tiny wings and scrabbles at his neck. He considers dropping the thing right then and there to see how it likes it.

But it won’t survive the night alone. If it doesn’t get eaten by something else—which, if anyone is going to eat it, it’s gonna be Wolfwood—then it’ll probably freeze to death. He doesn’t know much about baby birds, but you don’t leave any tiny creature without warmth in cooler weather. So he sets it down in their makeshift shelter before doing his best to curl around it, trapping it in.

It stops fighting immediately. Instead, the little thing burrows into the warmth of Wolfwood’s fur, making something melt in his chest as its eyes drift shut.

He knows cats are supposed to be nocturnal, but Wolfwood’s own eyes feel heavy as he sets his head on the ground. At least some sleep won’t hurt him.

If anything, things will be better in the morning.

They’ll have to be.

Chapter Text

Things are not, in fact, better in the morning. 

Things are much, much worse.

Wolfwood cracks his eyes open to find that it’s light outside, but not in a way that’s normal. First, it’s not filtered through the thin, barely-there window of his room. Second, it’s far too late in the day, and Chapel should be banging on his door, dragging him out, and smacking him upside the head. Third, and most important:

He’s much too small.

The past day’s events flood into his mind like a clogged toilet overflowing, overwhelming his senses and making his head spin as he lifts it and looks around the clearing. The emotions that seemed distant and unimportant yesterday smack into him now with a violence he didn’t know was possible. 

What was he thinking wandering so far from home? It’s not like he’s going to find a cure out here. Hell, he doesn’t even know how to cure a curse outside of fairytale “true love” bullshit. There’s no fucking way he’s going to survive out here. And he doesn’t even know if he has the energy or capability to make it back. His chances might also be shit in the city, but at least there was the opportunity to dig through trash or beg there. 

Here he has nothing except—

The little bird chirps in his face, flapping its wings in little jittering motions. It’s probably pretty hungry itself. What’s Wolfwood supposed to do? Dig up some worms?

A laugh tries to escape his mouth, but it’s more of a wheezing, squeaking sound as his breaths come quicker and quicker, and his vision blurs.

He’s fucked. Everything is so fucked .

“Oh! You’re finally awake.”

Wolfwood leaps to his feet— hopefully in front of wherever that bird hadlanded—and hisses.

“Well, that’s no way to treat a new friend, Mr. Cat!”

Standing in the middle of the clearing, where Wolfwood knows that he had just been looking and there had been nothing before, stands a woman. She’s extremely tall, even by human standards, with long brown hair and skin a few shades lighter than Wolfwood’s own—though hers is sprinkled with a ton of freckles. She’s got on brown pants, a white blouse, and practical shoes for being out in the forest.

And she’s glaring down at Wolfwood with her hands on her hips.

Wolfwood’s ears flick backward. He could try running. He’d have to leave the baby bird, but the poor thing probably has a better chance with some random human than an old cat. His joints almost creak as he moves, though. He wants to stretch out his joints the same way he’s seen countless other cats work out these pains, but he stays as still as a statue, eyes unwavering.

He needs to get out of this, but he’s stuck. Just like every other godsdamned situation in his life.

The tall woman tilts her head. “What, cat got your tongue? Oh… Is that rude?”

“A cat’s got my tongue because I am a cat,” Wolfwood tries to grumble, but it comes out more as a low groan than anything resembling words.

She tilts her head to the other side, looking up for a moment. “I suppose that’s true.”

Wolfwood stiffens, taking a tentative step forward. “You… You can understand me?”

Was he even more stupid than he thought to run from civilization? Would people just magically be able to understand him? Not that everyone would have the best reaction to a talking cat, but at least he could have gone home .

“Of course I can!” She laughs lightly—not like she’s making fun of him, but like he’s being silly all the same. “Most spirits without ailments can understand all other spirits, no matter how big or tiny and cute.”

Wolfwood’s fur stands up at that last comment, his tail lashing about. “And why should I take your word for it? A spirit’s the reason why I’m out here in the first place.”

“Well then, maybe I can help, Mr. Cat!” She kneels down, holding out a hand to Wolfwood as if he could shake it. “My name is Milly, I’m a tree in Thompson Forest. And you are?”

He eyes her for another long moment. He’s not exactly inclined to think kindly of any spirit right now. He knows, logically, that spirits come in all shades of grey, just like humans do. There’s not a monolith of goodness or evilness in spirits. But they are more powerful than any human, and it’s not like he’s building a great track record here.

But it’s not like he’s got a lot of options, either.

He takes slow steps forward, ears flat against his head as he sniffs at her hand. He’s not exactly sure what he’s going to get out of this—he’s never sniffed someone before—but she does smell strange. Like the sharpness of fresh growth carried on a breeze in spring, like the crunching yellow and red leaves crumbling underfoot in fall. It’s something more natural and earthen than the hints of musk and warmth of everyone he passed in town yesterday. So, yeah. Probably not a regular person. He can’t help but wonder why she chose a human form then, but it probably doesn’t matter.

With a sigh, Wolfwood sits down and grumbles, “My name’s Wolfwood.”

Milly laughs lightly before covering her mouth to try and fail to hide the gentle crinkling at the corners of her eyes. “I’m so sorry, this is a terrible first impression! But your name is Wolf wood and you're a cat ?”

Wolfwood snarls lightly but puts no bite into it, instead looking off to the side. “Haha, very funny, yeah. But I’m not a cat. I'm a fucking human being stuck in a cat’s body.”

She narrows her eyes at him before they go wide. ”Huh! You are, aren't you? That's even weirder. And you’re a young man, aren’t you? Not an old geezer.”

“I was , yeah.”

“My goodness! What happened to you?”

“What does it matter?” Wolfwood’s lips draw back, showing off his small, pathetic fangs. “Can a spirit undo another spirit’s magic?”

“Hm.” Milly’s eyes take him in, and he’s struck by how perceptive her gaze is despite how light her words are, and he shivers slightly. “No, this work is too complex for my power alone. I might know someone who could help, though.”

Wolfwood narrows his eyes. “Who? What’s the catch?”

He might not know much, but if he’s learned one thing in his useless life, it’s that if something seems too good to be true, it absolutely is.

“What a cynical little kitty you are.” It sounds like it could be and should be a scolding admonishment, like he should try to look more on the brighter side of life. But he doesn’t miss the slight upturn of her lips and the appreciative glint in her eyes. “Well… I do need help.”

“What can I do? I’m a cat,” Wolfwood says dryly. He’s already well aware of how useless he is at doing anything. Unless Milly needs help keeping some old lady company, he’s worthless.

“I can see that, thank you.” She giggles lightly. “But, you see, it’s going to take me some time to figure out your spell as there are some layers to it, and I’d rather not make it worse. And in the meantime, the friend I mentioned also suffers from a curse. He managed to outrun it for a while, but he’s a little silly and did something stupid. Now it’s caught up to him, and he doesn’t have much time left—just like you!”

Wolfwood bites his tongue back on a sarcastic gee, thanks , even though the big girl might find it funny. He doesn’t want to hope. He knows better than to hope. But…

“If I could cure curses, I’d have fixed my own by now. I don’t know anything about magic, and I’ve never been able to do any.” He shouldn’t be shooting himself in the foot like this. He should play along, pretend like he thinks he can help out to get his curse broken in return—but this spirit isn’t like the one who turned him into a cat. She doesn’t deserve that. He refuses to be someone who uses others. He’s seen too much of that bullshit in his life.

It’s not like anyone’s been able to actually help him this far in life, anyway. Might as well not drag anyone else down with him while he has the chance.

“Hmm.” She looks at him— through him, really. Her eyes flick about his tiny form as his skin crawls beneath the attention. “Sorry to disappoint, Mr. Cat, but you do have an affinity for magic, at the very least. I can’t tell how much under those layers of curse, but… it’s something significant.”

Wolfwood scoffs, the sound silly and high-pitched like a sneeze from his feline mouth. If he had any magic to him, Chapel would have taken advantage of it. Unless… Was he worried about Wolfwood’s power? Then why would he even adopt him?

He shakes his head. It doesn’t matter. “If you can’t solve it, I’ve got no chance. I don’t know anything about magic. All I’ve heard about are fairy tales, and I know that’s bullshit.”

“It almost sounds like you want to stay a cat with all your arguing!” She smiles at him, something genuine—but something sharp, too. “I don’t expect you to work a miracle, Wolfwood. But the faster we help my friend, the quicker the best magic worker I know can help fix you right up.”

It’s Wolfwood’s turn to take in Milly, as giant and formidable as she is. Spirits aren’t particularly malevolent, despite the stories parents tell their kids to keep them out of danger. They’re just as complex and nuanced as any living creature out there.

Problem is, Wolfwood’s been burned by the first—maybe second if his brother’s the same, who knows—spirit he’s met. He knows better. He knows . And yet…

“What’s the catch?” Wolfwood narrows his eyes. “Is this binding or something? Another curse?”

Milly’s smile softens, a tension draining from her that Wolfwood almost missed. “Not everyone is out to trick or hurt you. This is a gentleman’s agreement. Or a gentlespirit and gentlecat agreement, technically! I plan on keeping my word. Do you?”

“I already told you, I don’t think I can.” He’s going in circles, he knows he is—and he knows he shouldn’t . He’s running on borrowed time between the curse and his advanced age. But it feels unreal and almost unfair. He hasn’t done anything to earn this kindness. She’s asking for something in return, sure, but he doesn’t even know if he can give that. And it shouldn’t be okay.

“Will you try?” Her voice is so gentle, so hopeful, that Wolfwood is flung back to a different time and place with Miss Melanie sitting on the ground to look at him at eye level and asking him to try and be kind, to stop picking fights and find other ways to protect the orphanage.

He’s not sure he succeeded there. Maybe he stopped getting into trouble at the orphanage, but keeping the kids safe…

This almost feels like a second chance. And part of him wants to try. He doesn’t know this friend of Milly’s, doesn’t even know Milly herself. But he’s been cursed for one day and, well, it sucks. Whatever this friend of hers has going on sounds like it’s been on his tail for a while , and Wolfwood can say for sure now, with the tables turned, he’d want help. He needs help. It feels selfish and wrong to accept a bargain where he’s just him, and the others have some sort of mastery of magic, but, well… 

No one ever accused him of being selfless.

“Fine, sure.” Wolfwood dips his head in defeat as something inside his chest squirms. “It’s not like I’ve got anything else to do.”

“Then we have a deal?” Milly’s smile grows so wide it practically glows.

“Yeah.” Wolfwood sighs. “Deal.”

“Fantastic! I’d say let’s shake on it, but, well, you know.” She stands back up, brushing off her pants. “Oh, and one last thing! Don’t let him know that you’re helping. He’s a bit bullheaded sometimes, you see.”

Wolfwood bristles at that. He’s extraordinarily familiar with bullheaded idiots, and that does not sound like something he wants to get stuck in the middle of. He should backpedal and run away—but what other choice does he have? Maybe he can at least get a meal from them before parting ways. He’d offer to work off whatever he owes them for the food, but what can a cat do?

“Okay, off we go!” Milly scoops him up, ignoring his flailing limbs and scrambling paws as she turns away.

Oh no, this is stupid. This is so stupid. He can’t even defend himself. Honestly, he’s not that much better off than that bird— “Wait! The baby bird, we can’t just leave it!”

Milly stops, but smiles as she turns back toward Wolfwood’s tree nook and asks, “What baby bird?”

Wolfwood wiggles around in her arms, not enjoying the sensation of having no ground beneath his feet, peers back and…

It’s gone.

Fuck . Could something have taken the poor thing while he wasn’t paying attention? But Milly would have been looking. Did it hop away somehow, getting lost? He knows that baby birds probably fall and die all the time, regardless of whether someone is there to help them, but Wolfwood helped this bird. And he failed it. It’s like the fucking orphanage all over again.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Cat.” Milly’s grin is still there when he looks up at her, oddly unfazed for someone who seems like the type that would give a shit about these kinds of things. And then, of all things, she winks . “The forest takes care of itself.”

Wolfwood blinks at her, his ears flicking back. She did something, didn’t she?

But before he can open his mouth to question her, she steps forward and the entire forest shifts around her, blurring together into a mass of brown and green with hints of red and yellow as fall creeps farther and farther along. It’s not like he’s moving, there’s no wind brushing his whiskers, but it’s like the world moves around him. Or Milly, rather. As if the forest moves for her.

Except she kind of is the forest, isn’t she?

“Well, here we are! This is me, almost as old as the forest itself!”

The world slows again, even if Wolfwood’s head is still spinning. He definitely would have thrown up if there was anything in his stomach. Milly’s stepping through a clearing much larger than the one he was tucked into for the night. It’s maintained, too. The grass is littered with wildflowers and it’s a bit longer than it would be in town, but shorter than it would be naturally. There are rows of what look to be vegetables and maybe some herbs off to the side, but Wolfwood’s eyes are drawn to the absolutely massive tree that Milly strides up to.

The thing is wider than some houses—which is fitting, considering it has doors and windows like a house, all rounded and cottage-like. Its branches reach so high up that it almost seems impossible, like maybe they’re brushing the sky. And on either side of the door are more plants, flowers that probably shouldn’t be blooming this time of year. Red and vibrant and… not unlike the ones that Wolfwood left behind in the clearing.

Shit, the flowers . It’s not like he could have followed them all the way through the forest and survived, but he should have at least grabbed them before leaving. He doesn’t know how long this deal will last or what either of the brother spirits will do to him if he’s not prepared. Maybe he can convince Milly to take him back later if he gets the chance.

But Milly gives him little time to think as she bursts through the door, and Wolfwood braces himself to meet whoever lives inside the tree that Milly’s spirit resides in.

Chapter Text

“Mr. Vash, we’re home!”

Wolfwood opens his mouth, intending to complain about how Mr. Vash gets a name, meanwhile he’s just Mr. Cat , but he looks around and his mouth stays open for a whole other reason.

Chapel tried to make his storefront a space full of awe and wonder, something that seemed magical—but if you actually looked at it, it was a farce. Even kids knew it, always gravitating to the silly or fun toys instead of the intricate and delicate pieces that drew the parents in. It was never long before they bought what they wanted and left, the memory of the place fading as soon as they moved on in their day.

But this place? It’s unforgettable. It’s everything that Wolfwood dreamed about as a child, wandering the forest and pretending he could see and talk to the spirits. 

The walls and floor are, unsurprisingly, wooden and almost golden in hue, and the room they’ve stepped in is quite large and kind of round. It’s more like the walls follow the natural shape of the tree rather than anything manually constructed. The furniture itself is homely and well-worn; there’s a comfy-looking sofa and cushioned chairs, a large carpet with intricate symbols and delicate patterning laying across the floor, and a lovely little hearth on the far side of the wall with a small flame flickering away and licking at the pot that hangs above it. The ethics of burning wood in a sentient tree pops into Wolfwood’s mind, but the thought quickly fades away as he tries to take in the rest of the place.

Branches like rafters spread across the ceiling, and hanging like leaves are hundreds, if not thousands, of ornaments. From things as simple as twigs, leaves, to flowers with intricate patterns in their petals and warped metal shapes and glass formed into animals and objects. The entire room glitters and refracts light while tinkling in something gentle like a song, just soft enough to fade into the background. There are strange things around the place, too, more than Wolfwood could ever hope to catalog; in one corner, there’s something like a statue out of wood, but it’s twisted into a nonsense shape like the bits of driftwood that he’d seen someone show off at the workshop; there’s an entire wall holding pots with countless herbs and flowers growing indoors ; and there’s a desk with so many strange vials and jars that he knows is a part of witchcraft.

And that’s all he can dare to take in before a man stands from the desk, turning toward them.

“I’d wondered what you’d gotten up to— Is that a cat ?”

If Wolfwood hadn’t recognized the cloak, he would have recognized the voice, and then that head of spikey hair above eyes that almost look like sea glass in the light of day. Though the hair at the base of his neck is dark, almost black all the way around, something that was a little hard to make out in the alley. He’s also still wearing his gloves inside, and that same feather earring dangles from his ear.

It shouldn’t surprise Wolfwood to find this guy here, he was following that flower when Milly found him. But he stiffens in Milly’s arms, bracing himself for the curse to do something . Didn’t his brother say the purpose of the spell was to locate this Vash guy? Something about the curse being fulfilled? Or maybe he wanted Wolfwood to guide him to his brother, or bring his brother back to him? His memory is foggy now that he’s paying attention; it’s exhausting just thinking about yesterday.

One thing’s for sure, though. They’re definitely brothers, probably twins. It’s funny how people can look so alike and yet couldn’t be further apart.

And then Milly’s words smack him in the face.

Wolfwood wriggles around, not sure if he’s trying to run or hunker closer to the woman.”Is your ‘friend’ that needs ‘help’ Vash the fucking Stampede ?”

“Oh, I didn’t tell you?” Milly smiles down at him, all innocence even though that’s kind of a huge fucking detail to leave out . “It’s nothing as bad as you’d think, I swear. My friend here is harmless!”

The man—Vash the Stampede, the Humanoid Typhoon, in all of his spikey glory—arches an eyebrow. “What did I do to scare a cat?”

“Nothing, he’s just a little skittish! You know how strays are.” Milly stiffens a little at the scrutiny, which does not help Wolfwood stay calm.

“I’m backing out of this bargain. I’m not just going to hang around with someone who blew up an entire fucking city .”

“You’ve got quite a mouth on you.” Milly frowns at Wolfwood.

“Are you going to drop him off in town?” Vash echoes Milly’s expression, his eyes narrowing as he takes Wolfwood in. It’s a little weird, he’s different here than he was in town that day—more tired and a little less upbeat despite having been a crying mess then. Though, well, maybe it was an off day all around for the guy.

“We’re keeping him!” Milly announces.

Vash opens his mouth, the furrow in his brow enough of a response in itself, but Milly acts before he can do anything.

She shoves Wolfwood right into Vash’s chest, letting go of him before Vash even tries to hold him. Luckily, he’s got some quick reflexes and catches Wolfwood before he drops too far, hands cradling him around his ribcage and holding him at arm’s length with all of Wolfwood’s flailing. The bastard has gloves on, so his attempt to get a bite in goes nowhere.

“I forgot that I brought you another gift! I was checking in with my family yesterday, and they wanted me to bring it to you.” She rifles through her pockets as if she can’t find whatever it is.

“Milly…” Vash glances between her and the cat in his hands as Wolfwood eventually gives up the fight and hangs limp, still a good distance from Vash’s body.

Wolfwood’s too old for this shit.

“It’s a gift from people who love you! It’s rude to refuse!”

Vash glances around the place. “I don’t have anywhere else to put things.”

“I’d make you another room if you really need it, but you won’t need it for— Ah ha!” Milly pulls out something from her back pocket, holding it gently in her hands as she offers it to Vash.

Wolfwood’s a little offended that she’s being more careful with some gift than a living creature and not just tossing it at him, but they do look fragile. A pair of glasses rest in her palms with wide, round, orange-tinted lenses and arms that zig-zag a little, almost like a lightning bolt. Pretty fancy for a pair of sunglasses.

Vash sighs, shoulders falling even as he shifts his grip on Wolfwood to hold out a gloved hand for Milly to delicately place the glasses in. “They should really stop wasting their time and resources on me. I haven’t done anything for them. Not in a long time, at least.”

“They love you! And it’s rude to reject gifts.” Milly’s hands are back on her hips as she stares down Vash—which is funny, because he was about the same height as this guy when he was human, and he wasn’t exactly small. “They love you, Mr. Vash. Just like I do!”

Vash purses his lips as his attention wanders back to Wolfwood. “And the cat? Is you bringing me a stray how love works? Another… present?”

A rumbling builds in Wolfwood’s chest. He’s not some thing to be given around. And more than that, he doesn’t like being looked down on and treated like something that, well, the cat dragged in. He’s been treated like this for most of his life before the whole cat thing, and he refuses to be that again. 

“Exactly! I knew you’d get it.” Milly smiles so earnestly, like she’s actually dumb enough to take what Vash is saying at face value. Wolfwood’s known the girl for less than a day, but even he knows she’s way smarter than that. “You could use a familiar, and isn’t he perfect?”

“ What ?” Wolfwood hisses, scrambling with his claws out until he’s dropped unceremoniously to the floor, where he contemplates spitefully climbing and scratching up one or both of their legs.

He’s not going to be used as a fucking tool again . Admittedly, he doesn’t know much about magic, but he’s seen witches and their familiars hanging around. The witches use their familiars to channel magic or something. Which, sure, yeah, a dog will jump at the chance to have a job or whatever, and maybe a typical cat would be able to do a little work before napping the rest of the day away.

Except Wolfwood isn’t a cat, not really. He can have a say in this. He should have a say in this.

But just like Chapel cornering Wolfwood by threatening the orphanage, he can’t really do anything, can he? He has nowhere else to go. There’s only one person who can even understand what he’s trying to say, and she’s the one who dragged him into this mess. If he breaks his bargain, there’s nowhere for him to go.

“You’re awfully smart for a cat, aren’t you?” Vash frowns down at him.

Wolfwood stiffens. It doesn’t matter worth a damn to him who knows if he’s a cat or a person, but didn’t Milly say that he shouldn’t mention anything about this whole situation to Vash? That he wouldn’t want help or interference? And then he’d have to explain the whole brother situation, too. It would help him get out of magical servitude, but…

“He really is! Maybe it was too much to bring up a familiar with where you are right now, but you’re not just going to kick him out, are you? Let such a majestic, elderly beast starve because you want to be stubborn?” Milly pouts, such an exaggerated expression that Wolfwood snorts.

Vash, however, sighs for maybe the dozenth time as he unfolds and slides on the glasses Milly gave him. “Fine. If you’re so attached to this little beast, what’s his actual real name, then?”

Wolfwood’s not sure if he’s relieved or terrified that the guy seems to be going along with Milly’s plans—until he remembers. Vash knows his name. He knew it before Wolfwood even uttered it. And it’s not like it’s the most common last name, either.

“Mr. Cat’s name?” Milly glances down at him with a smile, obviously still entertained by the contradiction of his name with what he is. “He said his name is Mr. W—”

“Nicholas!” Wolfwood yowls loud enough to startle the others. “My name is Nicholas.”

“Oh, what a pretty name!” Milly claps softly. “You should have told me that one first, Mr. Cat.”

Wolfwood takes his turn to sigh at the antics. “And yet you still call me Mr. Cat.”

“But you are Mr. Cat!”

“But for anyone that wants to call him by his real name?” Vash keeps looking between Milly and Wolfwood, though he looks like he’d rather be lying down for a nap than dealing with any of this.

“Oh! He says it’s Nicholas.” There are obviously some gears turning in Milly’s head as she says this, probably trying to figure out the mystery of Wolfwood’s name change—but it’s not like she was upfront about what she wanted from Wolfwood, so he doesn’t exactly feel guilty.

“Nicholas?” Vash says the name slowly, carefully, like it’s something precious—but also with a slight hitch in tone at the end, like he’s confused.

It is a little human for a cat name, isn’t it? Not that he hasn’t known cats with the most weird and mundane of names, but still. Maybe he should be a little grateful for his curse since it seems to keep Vash from plucking his name right out of his head. It’s a little weird he can’t make sense of Wolfwood as easily as Milly does if he’s a spirit like his brother, though.  

“Alright, then.” Vash kneels down, peering over the edge of them to examine Wolfwood. 

And Wolfwood can’t hide how his hair stands on end—it’s only been moments since Vash put his glasses on, but the intensity of that blue hits him all over again. It’s almost like his eyes are magical themselves.

Once he’s done with whatever assessment he’s made, Vash nods. “Nicholas. Do you want to stay? Milly’s kindness is sometimes a little… forceful, but you don’t have to.”

It should be a relief to be faced with a choice that he has every right to make—but in a way, it’s crueler than the way that Chapel had him cornered at the toy shop. Because he could make this choice. He could walk away.

But he doesn’t stand a chance to live through this if he does.

“I’ll stay,” Wolfwood sighs, ears sagging a bit.

“Yay!” Milly cheers, absolutely beaming at the both of them. “What made you change your mind, Mr. Vash?”

Vash is quiet for a little too long, considering how simple the question is. “Well, he’s just a cat. What harm can he do?"

“You never know. I could piss on your shoes, you shouldn’t underestimate me,” Wolfwood grumbles. Maybe he’s kinda helpless, yeah, but he’s not going to roll over and be tame and domesticated if he can help it. He’s done too much bending to other people’s whims, and he’s done with it.

“Don’t be rude, Mr. Cat!” Milly might be scolding him, but nothing can disguise the laugh in her voice. “I have to go away for a bit, and I expect you to not be unreasonably nasty.”

“What?” Wolfwood blinks up at her.

“Being corporeal or away from my body is draining— especially right now. I’m old enough that I can stay in a physical form for a while, but I’ve used up too much magic. The longer I’m up, the longer I have to stay asleep, and that’s no fun.” She leans over to pet Wolfwood, and he almost leans into it before he catches himself. “Now, both of you had better behave yourselves! Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Milly.”

“I guess.”

“Good! Now that all of this is settled, goodnight!” Milly waves for a moment before popping out of existence with no fanfare. One second she was there, and the next she was just gone, like Wolfwood had imagined her standing there the whole time.

It’s quiet for much, much longer than is comfortable. Vash is still kneeling down and staring at him, and Wolfwood refuses to give in and look away first. Wolfwood claims a small victory as Vash once again lets out a long breath, gets to his feet, turns away, and strides back to his desk.

“Make yourself comfortable, Nicholas.” Vash glances back at him, like maybe a part of him understood Wolfwood’s threat and was checking to make sure he wasn’t following through on it. “I have to get back to work.”

Wolfwood shrinks back a little before slinking away to hunker down under the nearby table. He’d somehow completely skipped the biggest part of living with a witch and a spirit:

He’d be seeing magic.

Chapter Text

Wolfwood had assumed that things would at least be exciting when you were staying with a witch. that power has to come with a lot of shenanigans, right?

Wrong.

After about an hour of Vash just sitting at his desk, mixing powders and herbs while scribbling notes, adjusting his glasses, and wrapping some of the concoctions in little squares of paper, Wolfwood feels like he might go mad. Milly hinted that this guy is powerful. She had explicitly said Vash could cure Wolfwood’s curse if he wasn’t under one himself. It’s why he’s even here, wrapped up in this stupid bargain he’s already regretting.

But it’s not like Vash is up to anything half as exciting as that. In fact, he looks like he’s about to keel over as he slumps more and more, leaning the weight of his torso on his arms. It’s like he’s melting.

If Milly were around—or, well, she’s very literally around them probably, but she’s not exactly conscious of them if she’s sleeping—she’d probably be hovering and trying to get the guy to take care of himself. And it’s not like Wolfwood cares even half that much. He doesn’t care at all . But he is bored. And even more important than that: he’s hungry.

With slow steps, Wolfwood emerges from his hiding spot beneath the table and heads toward Vash. He doesn’t look up from his busy work as Wolfwood approaches, and he’s almost offended. He just got to this house, Vash has picked up that he’s sharper than the average cat, and he’s just letting Wolfwood roam around unsupervised. It’s a change from Chapel always keeping tabs on him, but it’s insulting that he’s just been dropped off and ignored like this.

Maybe he really will piss on the guy’s shoes. 

But before he burns that bridge, he needs to find a way to get food.

He eyes around the large room, and while there are cupboards and a counter near the fireplace, there’s nothing just laying out that Wolfwood can take advantage of. Maybe he could jump up onto the counter, but after the past day, he’s tired and sore. He’s not exactly sure that he can make it there without hurting himself. Or even worse, embarrassing himself by missing the jump.

So he walks up to Vash, sitting next to his leg. It’s really strange to look up at a person from a height shorter than the average toddler. Vash still pays him absolutely no mind though, head nodding down toward his chest as he continues to work. Wolfwood then reaches out and taps at his leg—paws at it, really.

Still nothing.

For a second, Wolfwood considers making use of his claws. Problem is that he wants food, not to get kicked out. So he settles for the next best thing.

“Hey!” Wolfwood yowls, loud and grating even to his own ears.

Vash nearly jumps out of his skin, fumbling with something for a moment before turning wide eyes toward Wolfwood. Maybe that’s why he wears gloves, to not get all that magical stuff on him. “Well! Aren’t you a loud one?”

Wolfwood resists the urge to draw back his lips and bare his teeth. Maybe it wouldn’t be the most cat-like move, but it’d make him feel better. Instead, he meows, “I’m hungry.”

“Oh.” Vash’s eyebrows shoot up. “I may not speak cat particularly well nowadays, but I know that tone. How rude of me, little guy. You’re too old to go without breakfast, aren’t you?”

Wolfwood can’t stop the little growl building in the back of his throat at being called little guy , but Vash takes it in stride, laughing as he gets up.

“I don’t exactly have any sort of cat food made up, but…” Vash bypasses the pot hanging over the fire, instead rifling through cupboards next to it for a moment before pulling a plate out with a pleased hum. Wolfwood follows along, sitting next to him for a moment as he messes with something , what sounds like a knife slicing through something filling the air—

And then there’s a rumbling that tears through the air before going quiet again.

Wolfwood’s ears flick around, but it seems to be coming from Vash . He shrinks down a little, wondering how volatile the magic he interrupted had been, if maybe this entire tree will dissipate into nothing just like Julai did, and knowing he has no chance in hell that he could outrun it. Not like this, but probably not with human-length legs, either.

And then Vash laughs, the sound a bit more strained than before. “Ah, I guess I skipped breakfast. Oh, well.”

He sets down a plate in front of Wolfwood, letting him take a sniff. It seems to be some sliced chicken, even if the smell is a little different to his new nose—not bad, definitely not rotten, just different. In fact, when his nose bumps up against it, it’s cold , like there’s ice or something in the cabinet up there.

“Is it up to your standards?” Vash smiles down at Wolfwood, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Even his expression itself is a little strained. Could be because he’s because he’s exhausted, hungry, or some other thing he’s hiding, but it hurts to look at regardless.

“What about you?” Wolfwood tries to ask Vash, though even to his own ears it just sounds like meowing.

“Good. Now I have to get back to work. I have an order I need to finish up.” Vash nods and then walks back to his desk.

So the guy will get up to feed a cat, but he won’t take the time to feed himself when he’s obviously hitting a wall and is starving. Gods, Milly wasn’t lying about Vash being bullheaded, huh? At this rate, Wolfwood wonders if Vash’s curse just makes him stubborn beyond belief. But, even if that would be a problem, Milly probably wouldn’t be desperate enough to enlist some random cat-man to help with that.

Unluckily for Vash, Wolfwood had a lot of difficult siblings growing up, and he could out-stubborn the best of them. He really shouldn’t care that much about this guy, and in reality, he doesn’t. But he does care enough to make sure Vash won’t drop dead because he’s not eating or taking care of himself before Wolfwood can get what he needs out of this arrangement. He understands getting so wrapped up in your work that you forget to eat, he’s been there before. He’s even been denied food until his work is done. But knowing you could eat, getting up and making someone else food , and choosing not to eat yourself?

What an idiot.

Wolfwood ignores his own meal, instead trotting back over to sit next to Vash. He’s already wilting over his desk, and Wolfwood can’t hold back rolling his eyes, even though it’s gotta look ridiculous on a cat.

“ Hey !” He practically screeches even louder than last time. 

Vash jumps even higher than before, pressing his lips together as he looks down at Wolfwood. “What is it? Do you not like chicken?”

Wolfwood huffs before keeping eye contact and slowly shaking his head in a firm no . It’s a risky move to show that much intelligence, sure, but Vash isn’t that stupid and has already clocked that Wolfwood’s weirdly smart for some furball.

And to his credit, Vash doesn’t jump out of his seat, or clutch his chest—nothing dramatic or shocked. He just narrows his eyes. “Then what is it?”

Going slowly again, Wolfwood looks over to his food and then back at Vash. “Eat with me,” he meows, trying to sound forceful but coming across as more bored than anything else.

Vash’s mouth twitches down. “Something to do with food, huh? You’re really good at projecting your meaning, little guy. But unfortunately, I’m not a mind reader. I'll be able to make more sense of your words with time, but not much is clear right now. You should enjoy your chicken. I’ve got some more work to do before I eat myself.”

And then he turns back to his desk.

Oh no, not that little guy bullshit again. And if he can pick up anything off of what Wolfwood’s saying, if he’s talking about him eating, not just focusing on Wolfwood, he’s gotta have an idea.

This idiot wants to out-stubborn Wolfwood? Fine. Game on.

Wolfwood crouches down, finding himself wiggling his butt again before he catches himself, then he launches himself up.

He was aiming for the top of the chair—he’s seen other cats do far more with far less prep, so it should have been an easy jump. Except he’s absolutely ancient for a cat and lands smack-dab in the middle of Vash’s side, scrambling with his claws to hang on for dear life while Vash gives a pathetic squeak. He should back off, he’s made his point. But stubborn knows not to underestimate stubborn. Instead, he heaves himself the rest of the way up Vash’s side until he’s perched on his shoulder, breathing deeply as he catches his breath.

“Well, aren’t you a feisty old thing?” Vash wheezes a little. “I think you’ve added a few more scars to my collection. Are you happy now?”

Wolfwood’s ears flick back, a low growl building in the back of his throat. Obviously the fuck he is not .

But Vash just eyes him for a moment before reaching out to grab another little square of paper. There are a few little packets stacked in a basket on the edge of the desk, and for a brief moment Wolfwood considers knocking them over. But the thing is, that obviously took a lot of effort. He’d watched Vash make only a tiny portion of whatever those spells or charms are, and it took a lot out of him. If someone destroyed that much of Wolfwood’s work, he might kill them, and he doesn’t particularly have a death wish.

And besides, sometimes the easiest option is the best one.

So he hops off Vash’s shoulder and onto the desk, purposefully ignoring the man’s sigh as he lays down on the desk in the middle of his work and stretches out.

“What a little monster you are.” Vash huffs, leaning back and making the chair creak. “You’re worse than any of the spirits that visit—and that’s an impressive feat. I should throw you out.”

Wolfwood stiffens a bit, tail thwacking against the desk a couple of times. Did he push things too far? Obviously, the guy was getting by before Wolfwood showed up, and he hasn’t died of starvation or overworking himself yet. Milly would probably pop out of the woodwork before that happened. He’s barely been here for a few hours and already he’s fucked things up. Maybe he’ll have better luck with the other brother. Maybe he can claw his eyes out…

After a long moment of staring at each other, Vash takes a deep breath. “Fine. You want me to eat, don’t you? What are you, a social eater or something?”

Wolfwood almost collapses onto the desk—looks like he dodged the bullet this time. Instead, he sits back up and meows a very enthusiastic, “ Yes , thank gods you can actually listen to reason, idiot.”

Vash snorts. “I don’t know how you can have that much snark in just a meow, but alright. I’ll eat with you if you let me finish my work afterward. Deal?”

“Deal.” Wolfwood hesitates for a moment, wondering if it was smart to have just made a different sort of bargain with yet another magical being. How the hell did he get so lax about this stuff over the last day? He’s always been alert and on edge, ready for whatever Chapel could throw at him. Not… this.

But then Vash gets up, leaving Wolfwood to scramble to his feet, shake off the pieces of paper stuck to his fur, and hop down the chair to follow. He sits down by his plate of chicken, but doesn’t touch it yet. Instead, he tracks Vash as he grabs a bowl from a different cabinet, goes over to the pot hanging over the fireplace, and ladles a bit of the contents in. It smells sharp and savory, full of herbs and flavor in a way he hasn’t caught a whiff of in years

He can’t help but narrow his eyes at the serving, though. It doesn’t seem like enough… But he’ll put a pin in that battle.

Vash takes a seat at the table, stirring whatever stew is in his bowl for a moment before making distinct, purposeful eye contact with Wolfwood and taking a bite. He then arches an eyebrow in challenge, as if saying, your move .

If Wolfwood could give him the finger, he would. Instead, he huffs out a sort of snort before taking a bite of the chicken and— oh . He doesn’t know the last time he’s eaten anything with this much flavor to it, something not overcooked and basically just remnants. Chapel would go out and eat on the town, and Wolfwood would be fed whatever cheap garbage he would bring back. There were more than a few times when Chapel just forgot to feed him—until he got good enough and fast enough, becoming valuable enough that he couldn’t be ignored. And he thought he was fine, that he didn’t miss eating real meals that much, but he was wrong .

The last time he’d eaten well was at the orphanage. It was nothing fancy, just whatever they were able to afford and had the time to put together—but it was better than what he’s had for years. It was something like this.

“You were that hungry, huh?”

Wolfwood glances up at Vash before looking down to find that he’s absolutely eviscerated his chicken. He blinks as his eyes water—cats don’t cry, do they?—even though it’s stupid. He shouldn’t be upset about a meal . He should be grateful he got to eat at all.

“I know it’s not much, but I’ll work on something a little more substantial for you later.” Vash comes over and picks up Wolfwood’s plate, leaning over the counter and setting both their dishes down with the distinct clatter of them hitting a sink’s surface. “I hadn’t exactly been expecting a guest, and Milly only eats when she’s in the mood. She doesn’t need to eat, unlike… Well, spirits shouldn’t need to eat, and she doesn’t.”

Wolfwood blinks up at Vash as he shoves all of his emotions aside, finding his eyelids drooping a little already. Being an old cat kinda sucks, it seems.

Even though he knows Vash can’t understand, even though he knows it’s pointless and silly, Wolfwood can’t help but meow, “Thank you.”

Vash smiles— actually smiles, like he did for that brief moment in the alleyway. “You’re welcome.”

Chapter Text

Wolfwood spends a bit of time trying to sneak around the room and discover something, anything—an answer about who and what Vash is, a hint at what his curse entails, uncovering hidden spells—but he gets nowhere. It’s somewhat of a clean house, even if there are some areas that leave Wolfwood’s paws twitching and wishing he could grab a mop and a broom. The dust bunnies under the couch are downright atrocious, and some cobwebs are clearly visible in the rafters. But once again, he’s foiled by not having thumbs.

Gods, he misses his thumbs.

Eventually, the exhaustion of the day, his age, and a full stomach catch up to him. He finds a small spot of sun on the rug and decides to lie down for a quick nap. He’d thought it might be hard to fall asleep somewhere strange, especially with some one strange. It’s been years since he’s spent any significant time anywhere other than Micheal’s Workshop, after all. Last night he had been completely wiped out, but he’s only been up a few hours tops today. But he can hear the rustle and occasional mutter of Vash working, the soft song of the trinkets moving above him, and the crackling of the fire.

He can at least drift for a bit.

Except when he opens his eyes next, the light’s all wrong. It’s dimmer, and the angle’s different, like it’s evening—and he’s not in the same spot. He blearily blinks, taking in the softness under him, glancing around, and finds that he’s on the worn couch.

Vash must have moved him. That, or Milly popped in for a moment, maybe. But when Wolfwood looks around, Vash is still at his desk and still very much wilted over as he toils away. He takes the time to stretch and pop his little joints—no wonder cats do that so often, it feels so nice—before hopping down and meowing at Vash’s feet. If he can only read intentions, Wolfwood decides to keep it simple and only speaks one word: dinner.

“Oh, you’re awake!” Vash perks up and smiles as he looks down at Wolfwood. It’s not the smile that practically glows, but it’s not the painfully fake one. It’s real in its own quiet way. “I know, I know, I don’t want a repeat of earlier. Dinner time.”

Wolfwood gives a small mrrp of approval as Vash gets up, moving stiffly over to the fireplace again. Has he even moved since Wolfwood passed out? He must have put Wolfwood on the couch, right? Or can you use magic for stuff like that? Wolfwood’s tail flicks as he trails Vash, and he makes a note to bother Vash to take breaks if he can get away with it.

This mealtime is much less eventful considering there’s no need for Wolfwood to pretty much assault Vash into eating. Vash helps himself to whatever’s in the fireplace, Wolfwood has more chicken, and it’s kind of… nice, actually. He hasn’t really eaten with anyone in so long, just scarfing down whatever he can whenever he can. Maybe he is a little bit of a social eater—not that he’ll ever say a word about it to anyone.

If he can ever talk to anyone other than Milly again. He hasn’t made any progress on Vash’s curse and has no hints on where to start. He’s got to get to work and fast. Vash’s brother didn’t seem to think Wolfwood had much time left in him at his age, and with how tired and achy he feels, he doesn’t doubt it.

“Alright, I think I’ll call it an early night.” Vash smiles, but it’s strained in a way that isn’t pleasant to look at. “Make yourself comfortable wherever—but one ground rule. My bedroom is off-limits. Alright?”

Wolfwood’s eyes narrow and his ears flick back, but he still manages a curt, “Sure.”

Vash nods, placing their dishes in the sink again, before disappearing up a staircase almost tucked behind a bookcase that had been built into—or carved out of, maybe—the walls.

Well. Now Wolfwood’s extremely curious about that bedroom.

For now, though, he has free rein of the house and he intends to make use of it. The lights are dimmer now, though they seem to be sourceless somehow. He spends a solid few minutes trying to find a lightbulb or a candle, but it looks like the warm light is just coming from some nebulous, unseen force above.

He takes the opportunity to jump up on Vash’s desk via the chair, sniffing at the bottles and packets, but all he gets for his efforts is an itchy nose and a lot of sneezing. He gets up on the table to poke around but finds it bare and boring. From there, he makes the leap over onto the kitchen counter, and finally things are a bit interesting—despite living in the middle of nowhere and having terrible eating habits, Vash manages to have a lot of spices, fruits, and vegetables lying around, and that doesn’t include whatever’s in the cupboards. Wolfwood doesn’t even recognize some of this stuff and considers taking a few bites, but he’s got no idea what’s poisonous to cats. Hell, he doesn’t even know if humans can eat this stuff or if it’s all some witchy business.

Which leaves him exactly where he started. He’s looked at everything he can, and he’s found nothing. Great. He might as well turn to stupid fairy tales and true love bullshit for all the good it’ll do him.

“How are you settling in, Mr. Cat?”

“What the fuck ?” Wolfwood hisses, back arching as he spins around.

Milly giggles lightly. “You shouldn’t be so rude! Did you forget that I’m here?”

“You should give some warning before you just show up out of nowhere!” Wolfwood shakes himself, trying to encourage his fur to go down. “This is the second time you’ve just popped in and scared the shit out of me.”

“Aw, I’m sorry, Mr. Cat.” Milly’s shit-eating grin doesn’t exactly match her words, but Wolfwood bites his tongue and merely flicks his ears back, tail lashing. “How are you enjoying your stay?”

“Frustrating. Does that idiot ever take care of himself?” Wolfwood shakes his head. “And how am I supposed to find any clues about his curse? Neither of you have given me any hints.”

“I can’t tell you very much, I’m sorry.” Milly kneels down, petting Wolfwood’s head despite his grumbling and growling. “He keeps the finer details tight to his chest, and some things are just personal. I’ve known him for decades, but he doesn’t want to talk that much about it even to me. I do know that he showed up with his magic warped and twisted a couple years back—it was the same time the darker hair showed up on the back of his head.”

“What does hair color have to do with— Wait. Decades ?” Wolfwood practically squeaks out. He’s not even been around for that many decades himself. Maybe Vash is a spirit.

“Oh! He’s not quite human, but he’s not a regular spirit either. I’m sure you’ll see,” Milly says simply, as if coming across new magical species is just a normal, run-of-the-mill occurrence.

“That doesn’t help with anything .” In fact, it makes things worse. Because what the hell is a cursed cat-man going to do that these people can’t? Wolfwood’s not so stupid that he thinks he’s special or important. He can carve well, he can survive life alright, and that’s it. That’s his skill set. Milly mentioned some sort of magic, sure, but being able to use it—if it even exists, which he doubts—would be helpful.

“Of course it doesn’t. What Vash is isn’t the problem. It’s what’s been done to him that’s the curse. He would have never accepted my offer for help and stayed here if he hadn’t been in a tough spot—his independence is important to him. And as you seem to have learned, he’s awfully stubborn.”

Wolfwood snorts. “Yeah.”

“So I need help getting any hints that I can. There are things that I may have missed, and who would suspect an innocent kitty cat poking and prying around?” She smiles at him, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“I’ve already searched this whole room, and there’s nothing here. But he did say not to go into his bedroom…” Wolfwood glances at the staircase, head tilted slightly.

“Don’t.” Milly’s voice goes cold, sending a chill up his spine. “There’s nothing for you to learn in there.”

Well, if Wolfwood wasn’t curious enough before, now he is. “And how am I supposed to make progress if I can’t snoop? Didn’t you say he’s not going to suspect me?”

“People have boundaries, Mr. Cat! You have to respect them, no matter what form you take.” Milly’s back to smiling, but there’s still an edge to her voice, and Wolfwood doesn’t push.

He doesn’t know a lot about spirits, but he does know that they can be vengeful buggers. It’s how he ended up like this, isn’t it? He can be good about staying out of Vash’s room.

For now.

“Fine. But I need a hint, or a direction, or anything . You can’t expect me to work a miracle, and it’s not like I’ve got all of the time in the world at this age,” Wolfwood grumbles.

“You’re not that old.” Milly waves her hand, and Wolfwood considers biting her fingers. “Just keep an eye on him, okay? I need a lot of sleep to maintain the spells I have going for him and the house, so I’m not going to be around as often as I’d like. But call for me, and I’ll be there.”

Wolfwood snorts; he’s heard that one before. He wonders if those flowers are still in the tree trunk where he left them. But with no other option, he just sighs. “Yeah, fine. I’ll keep an eye on him. Anything else?”

Milly taps her chin, either ignoring or missing the sarcasm dripping from Wolfwood’s tone. “Just make sure that he’s alright, please. He can take care of himself, he has for as long as he’s been alive, but… I think it’s a little lonely for him like this.”

“I’m not an actual cat, you know. I’m not a pet, some companion animal .” He tries to spit out the words, but… He does get it. He knows what isolation is like, and while he’s only been here for a day, it’s not exactly subtle how Vash buries himself in his work. Wolfwood’s been there. Sometimes it’s easier to focus on some task instead of sitting in your own head. And yeah, sure, Vash chooses to be here instead of being stuck as basically a slave. He has Milly. But there’s more going on here than meets the eye.

If only he could figure out what .

“I know you aren’t, Mr. Cat! We’ll work on that. But for now, you can at least play the part of his companion, right?”

“As long as I’m not his familiar,” he spits, mind jumping back to Milly’s suggestion to Vash before she disappeared.

“Aw, would it be that bad?” Milly pouts a little. “Being a familiar isn’t that terrible. I wouldn’t even use that word at all! It’s like—”

“ No .” Wolfwood’s hair stands up as he growls. Maybe he will bite her fingers.

“Okay, okay, no one can or will force you. You have to agree to it. Becoming a familiar is not something that can happen without consent.” She raises her hands. “Keep up the good work in the meantime, Mr. Cat!”

Then, just like before, she’s gone.

Wolfwood considers using his claws on the furniture and yowling through the house. This was a mistake. He’s gotten himself cursed, wrapped up in a deal that might be impossible to get out of, and he’s trying to solve a curse he has no hope of curing.

He’s fucked.

In the meantime, Wolfwood develops a new routine. He spends most of his time awake poking around, trying to uncover anything . He takes advantage of the few times that Vash heads to the garden or out to gather things in the surrounding woods to really dig in. He even manages to get up to the bathroom upstairs—and gets stuck in the tub. Turns out he can’t get his footing on the slippery surface to escape the ceramic prison, much to his dismay and Vash’s entertainment.

He’s never going to live that one down. He accepts his fate.

Not that he hasn’t gone outside to check things out there, too. He mainly sticks to the yard and the gardens. Just like with the stuff in the kitchen, he doesn’t recognize most of the plants. He decides it’s safer to not dig up or wander the flowerbeds, instead poking around the small shed and around the perimeter of the house.

Meals have become a consistent staple of each day, and Vash doesn’t try to avoid them again with Wolfwood’s around. He’s not sure, but it almost seems like Vash looks a little healthier from having that added to his routine. Maybe whatever he has going on physically doesn’t have to do with any curse—but Wolfwood isn’t sure about that. He catches Vash rubbing at his eyes and drifting off while working more than anyone who looks his age should. And if he uses that as an excuse to hop up, curl up on the warmth of Vash’s lap, and keep an eye on him while napping at the same time, well, only Milly could call him out on it.

Speaking of, most of his time is wasted on sleeping . It’s more sleeping than he thought it was physically possible for any living thing. He can’t say he hasn’t thought about what a great life animals have lounging around all day—but that was before he was a cat. Now he’s stuck with this body, and he can’t do anything .

He complains loudly at Milly about it every time she shows up, and she just laughs and says that she’ll work on it. She doesn’t show up often, but when she does, she looks more and more tired, too. He can’t help but think about how she said she was managing spells for Vash and wonders exactly what kind of magic is going on here.

More than the weird trinkets and strange powders and how ridiculously good Vash is at cooking up cat food—seriously, food for an animal has no right to taste this good, especially when Wolfwood has no idea where the guy gets his ingredients—the strangest thing seems to be the way that both the magical beings of the house are being worn thin. It has to have something to do with the curse, but neither of the idiots he’s living with drops any hints, and he’s scoured the house and found nothing.

That leaves only one other option.

Time is obviously of the essence here. Wolfwood himself won’t live forever, and the other two aren’t holding up that well. So maybe Milly and Vash have a logical reason for him not to go into this forbidden room, since clearly it’s not just something embarrassing or some kinky sex dungeon or anything absurd like that. And, yeah, it’s probably a mistake for Wolfwood to go into some delicate spell room or maybe even the heart of Vash’s curse.

But the first opportunity he gets?

He’s getting in there.

Chapter Text

The problem with sleeping so much is that whenever Wolfwood dreams, he’s human. He has his former body and he’s not sore on top of not being remotely as tired. And most of the time, he’s back in Chapel’s workshop, tense with the knowledge that he’s not sure when he’ll be berated, when his next meal will come, or if there will ever be any escape.

But in this dream, he’s small again. Miss Melanie’s hand is so large but gentle around his. And a part of him is aware that this isn’t real. He has memories and thoughts that shouldn’t be in his head, but… The sun is so warm on his skin, the calluses of her hands feel so real, and it even smells like home. Of good food, of the thoma chicks and their bedding, of maybe a few kids that need a good bath.

But then they reach the door. Chapel stands in the doorway. Even in Wolfwood’s dreams, there’s no escape. Even as a cat, even when he’s back home at the orphanage, even in his own mind—he isn’t free.

Chapel reaches out his hand and his touch is frigid, so icy that it hurts . Wolfwood cries out and begs Miss Melanie to save him from his fate and not let this happen. Not again.

But she lets go.

He screams, the sound tearing up from his gut and ripping him in two. He just wants a break. He wants a little bit of freedom. He wants to know what it’s like to live his own life. Not as a kid with no freedom, not as a slave to his job, not as a cursed tool in someone else’s conflict. He just wants—

“Nicholas?”

Wolfwood’s head pops up, blinking his bleary eyes with a soft, questioning hum. He’s lying in a sunbeam on the carpet again, which explains why he felt so warm in his dream. He ignores how his chest aches as Miss Melanie’s warm eyes flash through his mind and instead turns toward Vash.

He smiles at Wolfwood—a real smile, the kind that adds a glimmer to his eyes. He’s a little confused since he did nothing to earn an expression like that, but whatever.

“You looked like you were having a nightmare, Nico. I’ve never heard a cat make noises like that.” Vash almost reaches out to pet him but hesitates mid-air, gloved fingers curling before he retreats.

Wolfwood pretends that he hadn’t been about to lean into it, instead narrowing his eyes at Vash. “How the hell did you know that name?”

“The name?” Vash frowns for a second, obviously parsing through the meaning of Wolfwood’s dry meow. He isn’t wearing his glasses, which means he must be taking a break—that’s good. “Oh, you like it? It just came to me when I was looking at you sleeping. Isn’t it cute?”

It is cute. It’s what his family at the orphanage called him, what Livio still calls him. He’s never had anyone else think to use it for him after he left, and it twists something in his stomach. He can’t decide whether he likes the feeling or he hates it. “You watch me as I sleep? Creepy weirdo.”

“You’re so mean to me.” Vash pouts at him, leaning back on his heels where he’s crouched next to Wolfwood. “I should kick you out.”

“You won’t,” Wolfwood grumbles out the words bluntly, but his heartbeat still picks up a little. He doesn’t know how long this whole deal here will last, but… he can’t say he hates his life in this house. He doesn’t mind having regular, fresh meals, he doesn’t mind having a safe place to sleep, and while it hurts him to admit it, he doesn’t mind the company, either.

“Fine, I won’t.” Vash sighs as he stands up, crossing his arms. “I should get you a proper bed, though. I can’t go into town, but the floor can’t be kind on those old bones of yours. Maybe—”

A knock rings out through the house.

Vash freezes. Wolfwood hops stiffly to his feet, a growl rising in his chest.

In all of his time here, however many days or weeks it’s been, they’ve never had a visitor. He didn’t even know if Vash knew anyone else outside of Milly. Never once has he mentioned any friends or relatives, not even his brother.

Though is that really so surprising? Wolfwood is a cat, not a confidant or a friend. He’s not close to Vash and definitely not someone who’s cared about outside of being a pet.

Still better than whatever Chapel thought of him, though. So it doesn’t hurt him. It won’t hurt him.

But what can hurt both Vash and him is some stranger showing up at their door unannounced without any reason or right to be there.

The only connection that Wolfwood knows Vash has is that brother of his. And if he’s here, it’s not good. Wolfwood’s pretty sure he won’t survive round two of that confrontation. And Vash, in his state? Not a chance. Not to mention, with Milly asleep, well. To put it mildly, they’re fucked.

Vash, however, doesn’t share his sentiment. He stands up, sighs as he often does, and strides toward the door.

Wolfwood tries his best to scramble after him, his joints a little more limber from the sunlight, but not by much.

“ Wait! ” Wolfwood tries to put as much weight and feeling as he can into his words. Vash said that he gets the idea of what Wolfwood is saying—and he does get Vash to glance back at him, though he keeps walking forward. “You don’t know who’s here! What if it’s a trap or someone to hurt you? Someone here to hurt us ?”

But Vash simply arches an eyebrow and turns away as he goes to grab the well-worn metal of the door knob.

Well then, time for Wolfwood’s last resort. “ Milly !”

She said she’d come, she has to—

But it’s too late. There’s no chance for Wolfwood to hide or think of some sort of defense because Vash opens the door and…

It’s not his brother, that’s for sure.

Wolfwood had been looking up to Vash’s face, expecting someone to be in front of him. Instead, he has to look down, down, down… And there. A girl— No, a woman stands there. For her petite stature, her face is severe. Framed by her short, black hair is a frown, brows drawn together, and her narrowed eyes stare up at Vash.

Vash takes a step back, and Wolfwood can’t blame him.

It might not be his brother at the door, but Wolfwood’s not sure if this is better or worse.

“Meryl!”

Wolfwood jumps out of the way as footsteps stomp up behind him, though Vash isn’t as lucky. He’s practically run over and pushed aside as Milly wraps her arms around the shorter woman, lifting her far off the ground as she clutches her tight.

Wolfwood can only stare as the short woman—Meryl, apparently—lets out a distressed wheeze.

“Oh, sorry!” Milly holds Meryl away from her body, but doesn’t put her down. “I forget that you like to breathe.”

“Yeah, it helps when you want to talk.” Meryl coughs out. “Hi, Vash. And— Excuse me, what is that ?”

All eyes swivel toward Wolfwood, and he considers getting himself trapped in the tub again.

“That’s our cat , Nicholas!” Milly sets down Meryl, but they exchange a glance—and from the stress that Milly put on the word “cat,” Wolfwood can’t help the way the fur on his back rises up. That must mean…

“Hm.” Meryl’s eyes narrow at Wolfwood, and once again, that tub sounds mighty comfortable right about now. “I see. What a filthy cat you are, though. Don’t you know how to wash yourself?”

“Not like this, no,” Wolfwood meows tentatively, watching Meryl’s face for her reaction.

Her eyes only narrow further, though. “Then maybe I should take you outside and hose you off. That’s what they do with dogs, isn’t it?”

“Please don’t.” Vash laughs, raising a hand to scratch at the dark hairs at the back of his head.

“Meryl!” Milly gasps. “There’s no need to be so rude.”

“And there’s no need for him to be so filthy.” Meryl nods down at Wolfwood, as if anyone has any doubt who she’s talking about.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you too,” Wolfwood drawls. She must be a spirit like Milly to understand him so well—but he almost wishes she wasn’t. At least that explains Milly’s emphasis on calling him a cat. If Milly could see through his spell after focusing in on it, Meryl probably can too.

“Okay, I think that’s enough.” Vash gives another one of those laughs that are just as hollow as his smiles. “Why don’t you come in! I’ll make you some tea.”

“And food. It’s lunchtime.” Wolfwood grumbles, turning away from the group and going to hunker down under the table. Vash isn’t always the best about breaking for lunch, and Wolfwood can’t say he’s the best about remembering it either—he didn’t ever get lunch at Micheal’s Workshop. But he tries to remind Vash when he can.

Meryl might call him filthy and, well, he might be compared to most cats, he doesn’t know. But compared to when he first got here, his coat is less frazzled and rough, and his joints are less knobby. His joints even hurt a little less, and he likes to think he’s not napping quite as much. He’d thought his appearance could just be chalked up to how old he was, but apparently not.

It makes him wonder what exactly his body looked like when he was a human, how gaunt and starved he was. He didn’t know and he didn’t care; only the other employees saw him regularly. No wonder Livio was trying to get him out of there. He would have done the same for Livio.

Well, he probably would have kidnapped Livio, but that’s beside the point.

“I guess he’s not all bad,” Meryl mutters, followed immediately by a light scolding on Milly’s part before she tugs Meryl over to the couch. She doesn’t let go of Meryl’s hands as they sit down and immediately chatter fills the room while Vash wanders to the fireplace.

After the comfortable silence that surrounds the house most of the time, it’s strange to have so much noise. It’s not bad though, and Vash doesn’t seem to think so either. He leans against the counter, watching the girls as the teapot boils over the fire.

Wolfwood keeps an eye on them too, though keeping up with their chatter is hard with how often they change subjects and the number of people and places they both bring up. He does gather that Meryl’s someone important as she tells some personal stories about the fucking queen of all people, so it’s not surprising when it comes up that it seems like she’s from Octovern. What is surprising is that she made the trek all the way out here, especially if she’s some kind of spirit.

“Here you both are, just how you like it.” Vash sets down the tea cups on the small table in front of the couch along with a small tray of cookies and scones—which Wolfwood has no idea where those came from—and perches on the armchair that he likes to sit in when he takes one of his exceptionally rare breaks.

The chatter dies down as they sip away, letting Wolfwood’s mind settle and absorb the scene for a second. Vash immediately bypasses his mug and grabs a cookie, eating it more enthusiastically than anything Wolfwood’s seen in his entire time here. The girls pace themselves a little more, still keeping up a mild conversation as they drain their cups.

But Wolfwood doesn’t miss the way that tension creeps into the air the closer they get to finishing their snack.

Eventually, Meryl sets down her teacup and looks directly at Vash. “Are the spells and charms done yet?”

Vash stiffens, his smile more painful than anything Wolfwood’s been forced to witness before now. “It’s— I’m almost done.”

“Vash.” Meryl sighs, looking up at the ceiling. “You’ve been almost done for months. We needed those spells half a year ago, and it’s coming up on the winter festival soon. If you can’t do it, we’ll have to go somewhere else and—”

“You can’t go anywhere else.” Vash looks down into his cup, voice soft. “I’m the only one who can do something of this magnitude this efficiently.”

“We can hire an entire army of royal witches if we have to, Vash. I may be a spirit, but you know I have sway with the human kingdom. We can’t replicate your spells, but we can do something .” Meryl’s voice is sharp, but a furrow in her brow hints at worry. “This is… You’re not…”

“I’m fine .” Vash’s knuckles grow white, and Wolfwood swears that he picks up a slight crack as the porcelain splinters. “I’ll have them done. My safety spells are what’s protected this kingdom since before he decided to cause chaos and— Well. I only failed once. I will not fail again.”

Meryl sighs. “The barriers are falling, Vash. Your magic is failing. This is your last chance.”

“Would it be so bad to let someone else help, Mr. Vash?” Milly’s voice is so gentle, so earnest.

And yet it breaks Vash, fractures spreading more clearly across his face than any cup. “I… I can do it. You know no one else can replicate these spells, not how I cast them. Please let me do it. It’s all that I…”

The room dives deep into a silence that chokes out any attempts at conversation.

Wolfwood’s a little glad he can’t talk right now—that he’s not expected to. 

So, Meryl is some spirit with deep involvement with royalty. It’s not hard to guess that Vash helps out the kingdom they live in, and it’s not surprising, either. Everyone says that Vash is powerful and Wolfwood’s seen he has a drive to help. After all, Vash changed his entire schedule and life to accommodate a stray cat that makes way too much trouble for him.

But Vash can’t help Meryl and the kingdom anymore because of his curse.

Milly’s suggestion that Wolfwood be Vash’s familiar makes a lot more sense right about now. Problem is that Wolfwood doesn’t want to essentially be a slave again, and how the hell can someone like him be a part of creating spells for an entire kingdom?

Wolfwood wants to support Vash, yeah, but if Vash is supposed to be helping the whole population and their problems somehow, and he can’t? Is this why Julai is just a crater these days, and Vash’s name is so deeply attached to it? Something to do with his curse? He had honestly begun to think that it had clearly been a myth—Vash hardly leaves his house, much less goes to any of the cities. But now…

“The dragonsbane is ready out in the garden though, right?” Milly pipes up, obviously trying to change the subject.

“Ah, yes.” Vash stands up, gathering everything from the table and dumping it in the sink with far less care than usual. “The crop is ready to be harvested. The cities will need it for the winter, I imagine?”

“ Yes . You know how the dragons get in the colder months.” Meryl stands up, leading the three of them toward the door. “I still don’t know how you manage to grow the stuff outside of the desert, and in this weather no less. If you ever wanted to share that magic, maybe we could…”

Their voices trail off as the door shuts behind them, and Wolfwood takes the opportunity to rise to his feet and trot across the room.

He’s done waiting. Now is as good a time as any. No one will stop him, and no one will even notice.

Damn the rules, he’s going to Vash’s room.

Chapter Text

Wolfwood wasn’t expecting the hardest thing about sneaking upstairs to be the fucking stairs , but he should really know better by now. Any good the warmth of the sun had done has left his bones, and he delicately hops his way up each individual step.

He doesn’t remember it being this bad with the tub incident, but he’d gone slower and it has been a few days since then… He can’t be aging that fast, right?

By the time he reaches the top of the stairs, his heart is racing and he’s panting. Not all of that’s entirely due to exertion, though. Not with a reaper’s scythe constantly brushing against his neck. There’s little time to waste with Milly, Meryl, and Vash doing whatever they have going on, but every second that passes increases the likelihood of Wolfwood being caught.

Wolfwood turns down the hall, padding past the door to the bathroom and the mostly empty spare bedroom. He holds his breath, reaching out and pressing a paw against the door… And sighs.

It’s open. And he has no time to hesitate.

He shoves his face through the small crack, bursts into the room—and immediately trips over stuff. All across the room is a plethora of trinkets, books, and even some clothes. Which is a shock to Wolfwood since the guy seems to wear the same exact cloak, white shirt, and black pants every day. But while the downstairs is busy yet organized, up here is a mess . It’s way too much for him to look through if he were human and had an entire day to do it, much less like this and maybe an hour if he’s exceptionally lucky.

But he can’t stop, he can’t give into that hopeless pull in his chest. He winds through the mess, scrambling up a tower of books—and winces as it falls while he heaves himself up onto the mattress. He allows himself a second to make sure no one’s onto him, but it stays silent, so he turns to take stock of the room.

Yeah, it’s hopeless. Miss Melanie made the kids keep their spaces clean and tidy, saying it was building good habits for when they were adults. It’s obvious that Vash wasn’t taught any lessons like that. There are gifts from Milly and her family strewn about, though not as many as there are downstairs. Books lay on almost every surface, with papers and random things wedged between them and—is that an arm in the corner? A weird, human-proportioned, yet not quite human-looking arm with a green hue and bones-like segments exposed for Wolfwood to oogle at.

Gods, there’s really no chance of this working. If the answer to his problems is in a book, he’s absolutely fucked. Even if he didn’t have to read every page—which isn’t humanly possible anyway—and there’s a hidden compartment somewhere, he can’t flip through them all in this body. He glances at the desk, smaller than the one downstairs—but again, it’s mostly papers, pens, powders, and liquids. The bookshelves are packed to the brim, stuff shoved into every spare space where there isn’t a book. But nothing stands out .

He wishes he was a wolf like Milly had implied he should be. At least then he could howl about the frustration bubbling and burning up his throat, the animal equivalent of screaming. But all he has in him is pathetic, cracked yowling. It won’t soothe the void in his tiny chest, growing and consuming more and more each day.

Maybe it was freeing to be like this at first, but he’s useless and worthless, just like he’s always been. This form really does suit him, doesn’t it?

Growling, he turns and goes to jump off the bed… But something bright red catches his eye.

There’s a shelf above the head of the bed, not too terribly high up. And perched there, so bright it’s practically glowing, is a pot full of those beautiful red flowers Vash gave to Wolfwood when he first met him. The plant itself is huge and vibrant, even the green of it so obviously full of life that it’s almost unnatural. And it’s tucked away inside a spotless little terrarium, well-cared for and clearly a treasured possession of Vash’s.

Which means it’s important.

Wolfwood’s running out of time, and he doesn’t have the luxury of weighing his options. He crouches down, shifting on his haunches for a moment before hopping up and landing with surprising grace on the pile of books on the nightstand—there isn’t even room for Vash to set his glasses down on this thing. Maybe he keeps them in the little drawer or leaves them downstairs.

Stop , focus. He hops into a bookshelf, scrambling up and knocking over a few trinkets, rocks, and what looks like some herbs. Then he turns to the goal.

It’s farther than he’d like, but it’s still the closest he can get to in the room. There’s no other option. This is his only chance, and if he takes no risk, there’s no reward.

Once again, he crouches, perching on the bookshelf as best as he can, and leaps.

And his stomach smacks right into the side of the shelf.

He scrambles, trying to find purchase as he flings papers and trinkets off the surface, slipping more and more every second. But his claws find an edge, a groove, and he hauls himself up… as the room shifts around him.

For a moment, he wonders if he’s about to pass out—he had a few close calls back at the workshop where he hadn’t eaten or drank enough and just blacked out for a bit. But no, things start sliding off the shelf toward him just as he gets his feet under him. The entire other end of the shelf is rising because it’s fucking loose on its supports. Wolfwood tries to leap further down, attempting to counterbalance the tilting, but his paws can’t get a good grip before he’s smacked in the face by the terrarium and is launched back down to the floor.

Along with the entire fucking shelf.

The fall knocks the breath out of him, but all he can hear, all he can feel, is the crash of shattering glass ringing in his ears.

Those flowers were important. That’s why he wanted to get up there.

And he destroyed it. 

There’s a dull thudding in his head as he tries to right himself and drag himself out from the rubble—but too late he realizes it’s not in his head. It’s footsteps. The door bursts the rest of the way open, and Vash, Milly, and Meryl stand there, crowding the room’s entrance.

Wolfwood can only watch as the color leaves Vash’s face and the light in his eyes fades away.

“What did you do?” There’s no inflection to his tone, no indication of how pissed he is. Which, from Wolfwood’s experience, is the most livid anyone can get.

Wolfwood shrinks down. “I’m sorry, I—”

 “I asked you for one thing.” Vash’s voice breaks, and Wolfwood breaks with it. 

Wolfwood’s had more than he’s ever dreamed of here. A safe place to live, good food, and the company wasn’t half bad. So what if both of their cursed lives seemed to be whittling away—he knows how to just keep his fucking head down and be good.

Or does he? Does he ever know when to leave well enough alone? Isn’t that why he has scars all over his back?

He was doomed to fuck this up from the start. He should have never taken Milly’s offer. He should never have sought out Vash. He should have let Chapel come back to the shop and kick him out into the street where he could just fucking eat trash until his time caught up to him.

“You little feral, flea-ridden piece of—” Meryl stomps into the room, grabbing Wolfwood by the back of his neck.

He hisses, instinct making him lash out with his claws, but when he goes to yowl, he can’t get enough air—and he starts scrambling for a whole other reason. She keeps yelling at him, but he can’t make out the words and doesn’t need to.

He knows this is the end. The way his stay here should have started, honestly.

“Meryl! Don’t grab him by the scruff. That’s for kittens, it’s bad for cats.” Milly’s voice rings out above Meryl’s ranting, more powerful than Wolfwood’s ever heard it.

His little body is shoved up against a solid mass, and he gasps for air as his vision starts to come back. He hadn’t even realized it faded.

“He’s a nuisance! I knew it from the moment I saw him, and now look how upset Vash is. You’re just going to let this strange being come in here and hurt Vash? Are you seriously okay with this?” Meryl’s voice is so shrill and loud that Wolfwood tucks his ears back and huddles down into the scent of warmth, woods, and worn leather—Milly.

“Of course this incident is not okay, but he’s a living being. You’ve talked with him.” There’s a slight tremor to Milly’s voice, just enough that Wolfwood’s more sensitive than human ears can pick up on it.

Meryl huffs, her lips drawing back. “That doesn’t mean that he can just—”

“All of you, please leave.”

Every head swivels around toward Vash. He’s kneeling on the ground next to the plant that Wolfwood destroyed. It’s much less vibrant than it was safe in its terrarium. Leaves and petals are strewn across the floor, parts of it crushed and torn by all of the junk that landed on it.

“Of course,” Milly says, voice calm and even. “Come on, Meryl.”

Wolfwood doesn’t fight her as they head out of the room and down the hallways. Instinct roars at him to ramble out apologies, excuses, reasonings—anything. He wants to put as much force as he can into it so that Vash can feel the pit in his stomach through his words and know that he regrets every second of this stupid decision. But he’s hurt Vash enough. He acted, he can’t take it back, and there’s nothing to say or do.

It’s time for him to go.

Fresh air blows in his face and startles him back to his senses as he tunes into the world and finds Meryl’s back on her tirade.

“And this is what you get for taking in strays! I know that Vash used to be bad about it back when— Well, before whatever happened at Julai. But you? I expected better from you, Milly.”

“You expected me to let a poor, cursed man just starve out in the woods?” Milly’s voice is strangely serious, lacking all of its usual warmth and humor. It makes a chill run down Wolfwood’s spine. 

“You both know I’m under a curse?” Wolfwood speaks before he thinks about it, trying his best to shrink into Milly’s arms.

Meryl turns on him, her short stature making her about even with his eyes. “Of course I know. Any spirit with a lick of sense can see you’re under a curse.”

“It is hard to tell you’re human, though,” Milly pipes in. “The layers of your curse are complex—just like Vash’s. Which is why I brought him here, Meryl. You can sense Mr. Cat’s magical potential. It’s just as obvious as that curse.”

“Yeah? And? Are you saying that this cat can do something none of the rest of us can? That it was worth breaking Vash’s heart like that for all this? I don’t even know what that plant was, but even after Julai he wasn’t like this—”

“You didn’t see Vash right after that tragedy, Meryl. Don’t compare that to this. Don’t underestimate how well he hides his pain.” There’s a firmness to Milly’s tone that makes Meryl shut her mouth. “Whether or not he stays here is up to Vash right now.”

“I’ll leave.” Wolfwood dares to pipe up again, though he doesn’t speak very loudly. “I’m not helping anyone. I haven’t done a damn thing my whole time here. You’ve seen him getting worse, Milly. I haven’t got a clue what’s wrong, and he doesn’t need to take care of me on top of everything else. Neither do you.”

“He doesn’t— We don’t see you as something to take care of.” Milly glances down at him, and he considers just running off so these idiots will just leave him alone. “You don’t ask for much at all, and if anything, you do help him. Even I haven’t been able to get him to eat regularly after years of asking and nagging him.”

“But his curse—”

“Doesn’t matter if he can’t even take care of himself. You get him to do that, which is one of the most impressive feats I’ve seen in my long life.” She finally lets up her scrutiny, glancing up. “Right, Meryl?”

“Yeah.” Meryl agrees far easier than Wolfwood would have ever expected. “But—”

Ah, there it is. At least someone can see sense.

“No buts!” Milly shakes her head. “It’s impressive, and you know it. Vash hasn’t been content enough to take the time to listen to anyone for far too long. Listen… Do you mind if Meryl and I have a word, Wolfwood?”

“That’s alright.” Wolfwood stands up, ignoring how his legs tremble slightly as he gets his bearings and jumps down. Godsdamn, he’s tired. Being so old sucks balls. “Like I said, I’ll leave.”

“ Absolutely not .” There’s a steel to Milly’s voice that makes him freeze mid-trot, almost falling over. “I am going to talk to you after I talk to Meryl. Okay?”

Wolfwood considers saying no. Because, at this point? He doesn’t want to stay. He doesn’t want to see Vash’s face full of disappointment, or anger, or something even worse. It might even be more painful than Miss Melanie’s scowls of disappointment.

And that’s saying something.

But Milly’s done so much for him. It’s worth giving her one last conversation. He’s already been enough of an asshole today.

He sits on the grass, hanging his head a little. “Fine.”

“Great! Do not leave the garden, okay?”

Meryl snorts, her hands on her hips. “Yeah, like he can follow instructions. Didn’t Vash mutter something about Wolfwood not being allowed in his room? And look what happened.”

“ Meryl !” Milly’s shoulders sag as if the stress of the whole day is dragging her down, finally catching up to her.

Meryl’s face drops at the sight, her brow furrowing—but more with concern than anything else this time. When Milly grabs her hand, she doesn’t fight it.

And instead of walking away, instead of a goodbye, they’re gone. Just how Milly pops out of existence, they’ve gone to wherever spirits go and left Wolfwood behind.

Where he’s now stuck alone with only his thoughts and regret for company.

Great.

Chapter Text

It’s been a long time since Wolfwood’s felt this miserable.

That in and of itself should have been a warning sign long before he reached this point. The moments where he’s happiest, hell, even just content, are when the worst things tend to happen. The moment he starts to care about something, he’ll lose it.

He’d never admit it aloud to anyone, but when he was little, he had hoped to fill the role that Livio now plays at the orphanage when he grew up. He knew they needed staff, and he knew he was getting too old to just be a kid there. For the first time since he’d dared to dream of a future away from his shitty parents, he was hopeful for what was to come.

But the promise of pay and learning a craft was too enticing. He couldn’t help but think it might have even been better than staying at the orphanage in the long run. He could learn, grow, and gain independence. Sure he was scared, and Chapel already gave him a bad feeling, but he wasn’t a coward. So that settled it. That had been the start of the rest of his life, even if calling it a “life” feels pretty generous.

This situation here with Vash and Milly was always too good to last, and he thought he understood as much. But the loss hanging over him now claws at his chest too much and too sharply for that to be the case. He got soft. Maybe a part of him started to hope again.

Stupid .

The tip of Wolfwood’s tail flicks back and forth no matter how much he wills it to stop. His eyes keep wandering to the house, to the windows that peek through their branches. He can’t help but imagine Vash’s face there, each window twisting his face into a different expression. Angry. Sad. Grieving. Disappointed.

Nothing good.

It’s like he’s in a spotlight, a dozen sets of eyes on him, even though he knows that’s an idiotic, self-centered way of looking at it. Wolfwood destroyed something precious that Vash owns. He wouldn’t be looking at Wolfwood, and he certainly wouldn’t be seeking him out. He told Wolfwood to leave, and he probably assumes Wolfwood’s long gone.

And Wolfwood really should go. He wants to go. None of them need to waste any more time and energy on this matter, not when it stings this much. It makes no damn sense.

He can’t escape yet, though. Above all else, he doesn’t know if he can get away from Milly. Not to mention, she’s already obviously tired from the day she’s had. He’s already put her through enough.

He can’t keep sitting here out in the open, though. Every nerve feels alive, watching and waiting for retribution, when all he wants is to just sit around in peace until they dole out his punishment. With a sigh, he turns and slinks off into the garden proper, his first close look at it.

Despite it being practically winter with a strong chill biting through the air, the greenery’s as vibrant and green as Milly’s tree all around him. He passes through a section of basic herbs that even he can recognize before he reaches plants he’s never seen before. Delicate bushes with frond-like greenery and white flowers, a massive plant with waxy leaves that are almost blue, and a crawling thing with white stems and shimmering blooms. If he passes too close to some of them, they make his skin tingle and fur stand up on end.

He can’t help but wonder about the spirits that must lurk inside them. He never really thought about how many souls there are all around him until he crashed into Vash and Milly’s lives; it was just something he knew about, not something he’d ever see . Despite the fact that, when he was a kid, he went the festivals that celebrate the spirits at least every season, they were never real to him.

But now he wonders what these younger spirits look like, or if they even can take a form outside of the plant they inhabit. Milly mentioned that she’s old, and Vash appears to be as well, and with that seems to come power. So what do younger spirits look like? Do they even look like anything?

He pauses, glancing around at the plants shifting and waving in the biting wind. It’s so strange to see so much green around him when the glimpses at the trees between the manicured beds are brown and barren. Maybe maintaining all this is why Milly and Vash are always so tired.

It would be nice to believe it’s that simple.

Now that he’s stopped, he doesn’t want to move again. His limbs feel heavy, and his eyes ache. He just wants to curl up on the couch or Vash’s lap—but he has to stop thinking like that. Maybe he can lie down in a patch of sun out here, it might be warm enough to sleep…

He draws in a deep breath, feeling like he must be sighing as much as Vash sometimes does—

And he smells something sweet. At first, it’s far too cloying, his nose scrunching as he crouches down and shakes his head. But then it shifts. It’s not just sweetness that overwhelms his nostrils. Instead, it’s as if warmth and comfort had a scent, filling his lungs with something heady. He lifts his nose into the air, trotting along as he tries to trace it.

Eventually, he comes up to a plant that looks like a lumpy green rock. But the closer he gets to it, the more it shifts. The bumps begin to unfurl, almost like long wrinkly vines, stretching up to the sky and gently moving side to side to its own sort of current, like it’s underwater. The ends of the vines are red, flat, and kind of paddle-shaped, before those unfurl too. The red stretches out into thick tendrils of hair no longer than one of Wolfwood’s legs. At the tip of every single hair gathers what looks like a comically large dewdrop.

And the scent in the air goes from pleasant to overpowering. It’s like Wolfwood’s underwater in the same way the plant looks to be, all of his senses muffled—except for the piercing assault of that smell. The plant’s perfume is still sharp and pungent as it consumes him. It’s the spice and charcoal in the kitchen at Hopeland Orphanage. It’s the scent of wood shavings as he admires a well-made piece and tells it to protect the child who takes it home. It’s Vash’s fingers tentatively running through Wolfwood’s fur when he thinks he’s still asleep, soothing something in him he didn’t know was aching.

That thought slaps the cold air of reality into his face.

Every thought and every memory is exactly what he’d taken for granted and will never have again.

He scrambles back, hitting a wall of solid stalks belonging to some plant behind him—but the tendrils of the dewy plant follow him. Wolfwood smacks at it, claws fully extended as he hisses and shows his teeth. He hits it, but he can’t pull away. The drops of whatever liquid is on the thing stick to him like glue. No matter how hard he tugs, he can barely pull a hairsbreadth apart before he’s wrapped up more and more, the sticky liquid soaking through his fur.

“H-hey!” He screams out to anything, anyone, as another tendril wraps around his other front leg, tugging him closer. “Your freaky plant is trying to fucking eat me !”

He’s lifted off the ground as he struggles to no avail. More of the vines and sticky hairs curl around him, locking him into a cocoon and muffling any noise—like it fucking knows he’s trying to get help.

He takes it back, he doesn’t want to know what kind of spirits inhabit these younger plants if they’re all a bunch of assholes .

All the while, even as the vines tighten and cut off his circulation and movement, as the air is pressed from his lungs and he can’t breathe, he can still smell the stupid sap or whatever. He can still feel everything he wants, everything he craves , pressing in from every direction. And he can’t have it. None of it is his. Maybe it never was.

He should have called for Milly by name while he had the chance. It might have saved him. She said she would come if he called her, and he knows even now she would answer. And he doesn’t want to die, but… Does he want to live?

He can barely twitch as the world around him goes dark and drifts away.

Hopefully Milly will forgive him for leaving without saying goodbye. Hopefully Vash won’t hate his memory too much. If only he’d gotten to say goodbye to Miss Melanie and Livio. The kids at the orphanage might not even remember him, it’s been long enough that most have probably aged out, so at least they won’t miss him…

There’s a muffled boom and a sharp crack. 

Light burns his retinas.

Air so cold it hurts bursts into his lungs.

And he’s fucking wet . But there’s warmth pressed onto his chest, just a touch.

“Nicholas? Nico .”

Shit. Wolfwood would like to go back to being eaten by a plant, thank you.

But unfortunately, his eyes are already starting to focus again. Vash’s blue irises are locked on him, and he can’t play even dead.

“ Why would you go near the moondews? You could have died .” Vash’s face is red and splotchy, maybe from the cold. Though with the way his voice trembles, Wolfwood’s pretty sure he’s only managed to cause Vash more distress.

It really would have been better if the damn thing ate him. What’s the fucking point ? Milly and Vash are far, far too nice to have to keep taking care of someone as useless and destructive as Wolfwood. Yeah, Milly said he wasn’t a burden or whatever, but today’s events say enough on the matter.

Wolfwood tries to get up, to put his feet under him at least—but he’s somehow on his back, and Vash’s gloved hand is the spot of warmth on his soaking coat right against his ribcage.

Vash shakes his head. “Don’t move too much, I just had to resuscitate you.”

Wolfwood opens his mouth to ask what that even means and how anyone would even do that with a cat , before he slowly shuts it again. That shouldn’t be the first thing he says to Vash after all this. But what should he say?

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped at you just now. I was just—” Vash stops for a moment as his voice breaks before clearing his throat. “You couldn’t have known about this plant, I know. I keep my moondew sedated, but the wards had worn away because I’ve been so distracted lately. I’m sorry.”

Distracted or exhausted and cursed? Vash can try to hide it from himself, but Wolfwood knows. Vash may be a mess in some ways, but Wolfwood’s watched the magic work that he does, and he’s meticulous . Wolfwood sure as hell wouldn’t have the patience for half of the stuff that Vash does, the way he perfectly times his steps, or how he keeps track of everything.

And now he’s going to be more exhausted because he probably used too much magic to bring Wolfwood back to life when he would have been better off dead.

More than anything else, Wolfwood hates how grateful he is and how terrifying the idea of dying and going like this was. It would have been so much easier if it had all ended this way, but he’s selfish and stupid. He might be the one who’s cursed, but more than anything else, he feels like a curse on everyone around him.

“These are one of the few carnivorous plants that have magical properties to lure in their victims. They use the classic technique of tempting prey in with something sweet, literally and figuratively. They draw on your memories to make an olfactory illusion to take you back to things you care for, things that make you feel safe. So what I smell is different than what you smell, and— Sorry, I’m rambling.” Vash huffs out another one of those terrible, fake laughs he gave the girls earlier.

Wolfwood had never wanted it to be turned onto him.

“Your heart and lungs seem to be stable. Do you feel alright?”

Taking a deep breath, Wolfwood thinks he’s fine in that he seems to at least be taking in air alright. And now that he can breathe, he should answer Vash with words. He should say something, anything . He just decimated two of Vash’s plants in one go, one absolutely devastating the guy. He knows he fucked up more than anything else. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see sliced-up bits of the vines of the thing that tried to eat him. He couldn’t even stay out of trouble for an hour .

So, like the coward he is, all he can do is grumble out an affirmative.

Vash lets out a small sigh, his shoulders falling a little. “Come on. You need a bath. Meryl was right, even if she was rude about it. Your coat had gotten rough and I hadn’t paid enough attention to notice—I’m so sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.” Wolfwood regrets opening his mouth the second that the words leave them. Of everything he could have said, should have said, that’s what comes out?

Pathetic.

A shaky smile crosses Vash’s face. “Sorry.”

“What did I—”

Vash’s hands wrap around his ribs and lift him off the ground, knocking the wind right out of Wolfwood’s lungs. What happened to him needing to take it easy because he almost died .

Wolfwood scrambles in the air for a moment before he’s tucked against the warmth of Vash’s chest, held firmly but not as suffocating as Meryl or the stupid moondew. It’s only then he realizes he’d been shivering in the cold what with being so moist—and that he must be soaking through Vash’s shirt. 

He tries to push away and save Vash from the slime, but Vash does his best to run his fingers through Wolfwood’s fur, soothing him. And it… It’s nice. Wolfwood should keep pushing away, he fucking knows better , but the gentleness of Vash’s touch after the day he’s had is too much.

“Don’t worry, Nico. I’ve got you.”

If Vash hears the stupid, pathetic, broken noise that Wolfwood makes, he doesn’t say anything.

Chapter Text

“So! Are you a cat that likes or hates water?”

Wolfwood glowers at Vash. He’d been deposited on the bathroom sink counter as soon as they’d entered the room, so at least now their eye levels are closer than usual.

On the way up here, Wolfwood had tried to arch his head and peek into Vash’s room down the hall to no avail. The door is, understandably, shut and he has no idea what state it’s in. Now, he stands on the tips of his toes, arching his back and tail as he tries to keep from making even more of a mess for Vash to clean up.

Wolfwood very pointedly does not give an answer. In part because he still has no godsdamned idea what to say to Vash, but also because he honestly doesn’t know how he feels about baths. He used to like them as a kid, splashing around with bubbles and toys, normally with a few other children. Though as an adult, he sure as hell didn’t enjoy rinsing off as quickly as he could out behind the workshop with cold water and sometimes in freezing weather. 

But as a cat? His senses have changed. His eyesight and hearing are sharper, and his body isn’t his normal one. He had thought about… bathing himself a few times, but the idea of licking filth off his fur and swallowing it or spitting it out was too much. Besides, there have to be animals out there that don’t clean themselves, right?

Wolfwood hadn’t noticed being gross before, but he can especially see it now. It’s not like his looks and cleanliness have ever been a priority in his life—for all he knew, he might have stunk to all his coworkers. Maybe even Livio noticed on Wolfwood’s rare visits.

Vash lets out a long sigh. Wolfwood hasn’t heard him sigh this much since he first got here. He doesn’t even know what that means, and he’s not sure he wants to. Just thinking about it makes the unpleasant weight of guilt crawl into his stomach.

Which is stupid. The guy can feel and do whatever he wants, and he has every reason to with everything Wolfwood’s put him through today alone.

Wolfwood just wishes that, for once, he wasn’t the cause of someone else’s sadness or disappointment.

“There, that should be enough.” Vash turns the water off, swirling around the suds for a second before turning back to Wolfwood. “You okay with this water level?”

Wolfwood blinks. What does it matter? Wolfwood busted through Vash’s home and privacy like a thoma in a china shop today. Vash has every right to do whatever he likes with him. He’s just a cat, a pet, after all.

“I might be able to magic all that gunk off you, if you like.” Vash shrugs. “Just… I’m run dry right now. We’ll have to get Milly involved, and I’m not sure how well she’s doing after being physically present for so long. It won’t be a problem though! It will just take time.”

Vash turns his fake smile at him, and it’s as if the damn thing is punching a hole through Wolfwood’s chest.

“It’s fine,” Wolfwood grumbles out, glancing away. “Just don’t smile like that. I know you’re not happy.”

Vash’s smile falls and he sighs yet again, making Wolfwood’s skin crawl. “Alright. You mind if I get in with you, then?”

Wolfwood tenses. It feels… weird . Vash doesn’t know that he’s a human being, and wouldn’t that be a violating breach of trust? But then again, Vash isn’t stupid. He’d clocked Wolfwood as an eerily abnormal cat from the start. It would be cruel to make Vash wait. Besides, there are enough soap suds. He just won’t look anywhere but up.

Wolfwood gives a jerky nod and makes a vague, grunting noise of assent, not taking the risk of opening his mouth again.

Vash begins stripping, and Wolfwood feels his ears go hot as he looks anywhere but at Vash. He may have seen a lot of other naked bodies at the orphanage, but it was different back then. It was before puberty had hit proper, not to mention he wasn’t in the disguise of a cat.

Even if he knows it wouldn’t feel nearly as awkward bathing with Livio. Hell, even Milly might be easier. But Vash—

No, he’s not going to think about what that could possibly mean. Because, yes, Vash is caring for him right now , but Wolfwood has fucked up far too much to stay here. If he loses himself in some stupid, weird, complicated feelings, neither of them will survive their curses for very long.

And then Vash places his earring on the counter next to Wolfwood, drawing his eyes to bare skin—and all his other thoughts go out of the window. 

The first thing he notices is the prosthetic on his left arm, giving off a gentle hiss as he detaches it. It’s just like the one in Vash’s room, though he can see it properly now. It’s green and crystalline, and it follows the shape of an arm’s bones and flesh. Obviously Wolfwood knows well enough that its movements are totally natural when Vash has it on—though now it lays limp on the countertop. But more than what a weird, artistic choice the design is, Wolfwood goes hot with shame that he never noticed . Yeah, Vash always wore gloves and his coat, but was Wolfwood that stupid?

His attention doesn’t stay there very long, though, because once his eyes hone in on Vash’s skin, the prosthetic doesn’t matter. The man is covered in scars below his neckline. There even seem to be patches of skin that look almost raw, some places fused with something like metal. He’d mentioned ages ago, when Wolfwood had crawled up his side, that he’d given him a few more scars, but Wolfwood had just assumed Vash was referring to an average amount of scars a normal person would have. But that is not the case. And Wolfwood added to that.

He might be sick.

Before Wolfwood can make good on that, though, Vash grabs him with his one hand. Wolfwood lets out an indignant squawk at the shock of the touch—ignoring the light giggle Vash gives in response. Instead, he braces himself as Vash climbs into the clawfoot tub, settling down awkwardly without any hands before gently lowering Wolfwood into the water and onto his lap.

Wolfwood squints his eyes shut, knowing that with his luck, this will end up being unpleasant, but… It’s not. It’s warm . He’s so cold that the water almost burns, but it seeps in deeper than even laying in the sun would allow. He hadn’t even paid attention to how painful his joints had gotten until the ache starts to ease up, and he almost sobs.

He doesn’t, though. Instead, he sits down on Vash’s legs, letting his head sink low enough that his nose can barely surface, blowing out a small ring of water clear of bubbles.

Vash laughs lightly, a small but genuine smile on his face. “I take it you like baths, then?”

Wolfwood grunts and looks aside, fighting himself on how soothing it is to hear Vash’s laugh become more and more natural and earnest again. Wolfwood doesn’t deserve it. So instead, he looks around at the small hills and valleys of the suds around him.

And finds… a toy duck bobbing around? Vash has a kid’s bath toy in his bathroom? Which, somehow, it isn’t even remotely shocking or weird. It even fits him. With how hard Vash works, all he does for others, hiding himself behind those fake smiles, he deserves something nice. Though most of the time that Wolfwood’s been here, Vash seems to take a perfunctory shower at most, never wasting any time on a bath. Any time Wolfwood’s awake to observe Vash, he’s either working or locked in his room and hopefully sleeping.

“Maybe we’ll have to have regular baths, then.” Vash scratches through Wolfwood’s fur, working the plant’s crusty, goopy slime out and the suds in. “You seem less stiff than usual, too. I wonder if certain salts would help cat joints like they do for humans…”

Well, if it would give Vash an excuse to have more baths, sure. He would have to take the time to rest and relax, and Wolfwood—

No . Wolfwood can’t make plans like that after fucking up so badly. Vash shouldn’t be treating him like everything’s okay. It’s not okay. 

“You should be pissed at me.” Wolfwood shuts his mouth tight once the words escape. He knows he should keep his damn mouth shut in the first place. Chapel beat that into him enough times, he knows . But he can’t deal with Vash pretending everything is fine and nothing will change after this.

Wolfwood broke Vash’s trust. He hurt Vash. He did damage he doesn’t understand and doesn’t know how to repair. And Vash deserves so much better.

“Me? Angry at you?” Vash keeps his fingers moving, still working through Wolfwood’s fur as gently as ever. “And if I’m not?”

The soothing motions of Vash’s fingers are incredibly unfair as Wolfwood’s eyes begin to drift shut, and what little filter he has slips away. “Then you’re stupid.”

Vash laughs, and it’s not a bitter or sharp thing. It’s bright and ringing, and it makes Wolfwood want to crawl forward and slink away at the same time. 

“Then I’m stupid, I suppose,” Vash agrees easily, and then continues on before Wolfwood can think of a protest. “Those flowers that you knocked down? They’re called geraniums.”

No . Wolfwood fucked up, and Vash decides to open up in response? This is wrong. He wishes that Vash would just hit him like Chapel did. That’s something he could understand, and he could brace himself for it. But this? Wolfwood has no idea what the hell to do with this. All he knows is that he wants it to stop .

“My mom gave me that plant.” Vash pauses for a second in both his movements and his words. “Well, I suppose she wasn’t technically my mom by most people’s standards, and she never said as much to me. But she raised me and that counts for something, don’t you think?”

Yeah, it counts. Wolfwood gets it—probably better than Vash could even imagine. And in a way, he feels like it’s something that he’s closer to Vash for. But in another way, it makes him want to duck his head under the water and writhe in shame. Vash couldn’t even suspect him of hiding something like this because how could he? He’s a cat. Cats don’t grow up in orphanages.

“Do you have a family?”

“No.” Wolfwood blinks up at Vash before his words catch up with him, and he realizes that saying no isn’t the whole truth, not really. “I mean… yeah. I guess I do, if you count someone who isn’t blood as family. I was an orphan, too.”

“Same as me, as in… you were adopted?” Vash tilts his head as he sinks down, shifting Wolfwood.

He does everything in his power not to dig his claws into Vash’s thighs, but it’s a close thing. “Kinda.”

“That must’ve been rough.” His voice is so kind, so warm, so earnest.

Wolfwood doesn’t deserve it. “I made do.”

“You…” Vash gives a frown, searching Wolfwood’s face. “You struggled?”

Wolfwood echoes Vash, trying to read his expression. He usually doesn’t have this much trouble understanding at least the meaning of Wolfwood’s words Maybe he’s distancing himself—though that doesn’t make sense. If that were the point, he wouldn’t be trying to engage Wolfwood in conversation. Even though he should be giving him the cold shoulder, Vash doesn’t seem to like doing what would be best for him.

So Wolfwood tries to put as much emotion as he can behind a simple, “No.”

“Ah. Sorry.” Vash gives a half-hearted smile as he tilts his head back into the water, soaking the great globs of dirt and globs of plant stuck in his hair. “Translating your emotions can take a bit of energy, and I’m a little low right now.”

Wolfwood stiffens, his back arching a bit. Understanding Wolfwood takes some significant effort? Milly’s never appeared to have any issue with it, hearing him as well as if he were a person. Then again, Vash doesn’t seem to be the same kind of spirit as Milly. Maybe he’s younger? Older? Something else entirely? Though Meryl seemed to be a different sort of spirit than Milly—not a part of her family, at least, because Milly apparently somehow talks to them all the time and keeps bringing trinkets for Vash against his will, and Wolfwood would have heard about Meryl before now if they were related—and she understood him without any effort.

Either it’s the curse, or Vash is something neither human nor spirit.

Regardless of what it is, Wolfwood’s not going to say another word. The bags under Vash’s eyes could probably carry all of Milly’s family’s gifts without any issues, and that’s no small feat.

“Oh no.” Vash tilts his head up, reaching forward to flick Wolfwood’s forehead so softly it’s barely just the press of his fingers there—even if he flinches regardless. “Don’t use that as an excuse not to talk to me, mister. Dammit all, and I’d just gotten you talking again.”

Wolfwood considers keeping his vow of silence, but Vash just raised an even greater concern. “What, you can hear my thoughts now?”

“No, I can’t read your mind.” Vash shakes his head. “While I can touch another person’s spirit, it’s only when they’re compatible and open with my own. And even then, I can only get general information like a name, or age, or a vague emotion.”

Ah, well then. That explains how he got Wolfwood’s name back in that alleyway. Still a little weird, but not nearly as violating, at least.

Vash sighs, maybe knowing he’s said too much and can’t take it back. “I just hope you choose to stay after all of this. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Wolfwood growls. Vash wants him to talk? Fine. “You gave me one rule, and I broke it. I’m the one who should be sorry—and I am. I’m so sorry. But that’s not enough. I should go. There’s no reason for you two to keep me here after I broke your trust. It would be better for everyone. I… I just…”

Wolfwood doesn’t deserve this. He has no worth and no value, and Vash shouldn’t keep him here. All Wolfwood will do is hurt him, and that can be easily proven if he just looks back at his whole life up until now. There’s not a single person in his life that he hasn’t let down.

“Do you know what made me offer for you to stay in the first place?” Vash meets his eyes, and he doesn’t look away.

Wolfwood tries his best not to shrink back, but he’s not sure if he succeeds.

“You probably already put together that I didn’t want you here at first. I know you’re not stupid, as often as you seem to think terrible things about yourself. You saw how much I argued with Milly, and I rarely try to push back that much.” He grimaces, almost like he regrets it. “But what really changed my mind was your eyes. They’re so lovely, you know. The longer I look, the more I can’t tell if they’re blue or grey or brown.”

Wolfwood snorts. “Me having weird colored eyes made you let me stay?”

“No.” Vash shakes his head, firm and with conviction. “They’re what made me pay attention to you the very first moment I saw you. And when I looked deeper, I recognized the eyes of someone good. There’s a kindness in you that reminds me of someone I met not too long ago, who I regret walking away from.”

Wolfwood does take a step back, then. Vash couldn’t be talking about…? No, of course not. It was a few minutes that meant nothing to him on a night when he was distraught about bigger things. Wolfwood probably wouldn’t even remember that night if his life wasn’t so pathetic. Vash’s world is much larger and full of more people than anything Wolfwood’s ever known.

“If you don’t have family, and you have nowhere else to go, then stay. Please.” Vash’s voice is so soft, so earnest, and there’s a brokenness to it that lodges in Wolfwood’s ribcage. “I don’t care what you’ve done. I want to work it out. Do you?”

Something desperate and raw inside Wolfwood screams his answer, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. Because it’s selfish. He shouldn’t . Vash has done so much for him, and Wolfwood has nothing to give in return.

But Wolfwood can’t imagine being anywhere else right now. He’ll never set foot in Chapel’s workshop again, and he misses the orphanage, sure. But there’s a warmth to this place and to Vash that he’s never found anywhere else. And he shouldn’t cling to it, as broken and cursed as he is. Despite whatever bullshit Vash spews about his eyes, Wolfwood’s not a good person. He can’t be sure he ever was. And once Chapel got ahold of him, he’s not sure he had the chance to be anything other than what he became.

The irony of him being the most human he’s ever been while in a cat’s body isn’t lost on him. He just wishes he was doing a better job of it all.

Despite that, though, he still gives Vash a jerky nod.

And then Vash smiles and it’s like his joy makes him the sun itself, lighting up the entire room. “Thank you, Nicholas. I promise you won’t regret it.”

Chapter Text

Wolfwood’s not sure what he’s still doing here. It made sense before; he had a comfortable routine and a meaningful purpose then. But he destroyed both of those in one fell swoop. And yeah, Vash may have asked him to stay. But why ?

If he’s being honest, Wolfwood doesn’t want to find out. He spends most of every day tucked away. He generally only comes out for meals—since that’s the only way his spikey-haired idiot will eat—or to go outside to take care of his business, as much as he hates it.

Thumbs may be at the top of his list of things he wishes he had, but being able to use a normal bathroom is right behind it.

Every couple of days, Vash also lures him out for another bath. And again, Wolfwood goes along with it because he knows that’s the only way that Vash will too. He refused Vash all of one time and watched in despair as he shrugged and went back to work. When Wolfwood came out, meowing that he’d changed his mind, the smug smile on Vash’s face showed he clearly knew exactly what he was doing.

Bastard.

But the worst part about all of this is that playing these games is the only thing Wolfwood can do around here anymore. The few times Milly’s come out, more exhausted than ever, she has no more hints—though he’s becoming more and more sure she’s hiding something from him. It’s in how she avoids certain topics, her wording oh so careful when she does dare broach anything. And he can’t even blame her because what has he done to earn anyone’s trust at this point?

He has no use or purpose anymore, and it eats at him day in and day out. All he does is take up time, space, and resources while giving nothing back. Even his work at Micheal’s Workshop never made him feel this worthless. Hell, even Chapel never made him feel this afraid of what he could lose. What he will lose. If, by some miracle, he doesn’t get kicked out, then this will all end by his or Vash’s curse.

At least as a human, Wolfwood could be useful. He could cook, he could clean, he could help Vash with his spellwork—at least measuring ingredients and tying up those little paper packets. Busywork is something he did at the orphanage all the time, and it’s not like Chapel didn’t use him for anything and everything. If he’s good at one thing, it’s adapting.

But cats are absolutely useless creatures, apparently.

He could try and find something else, a new purpose, but he still doesn’t trust himself after that one shitty day. He broke Vash’s single rule and then managed to help wreck his garden, too. It’s hard to miss the gaping hole where the moondew had been dug up.

All he can do is hold Vash accountable, and that’ll have to be good enough until his time is up. It’s not like he wants to give up on the curse thing, but it was doomed to begin with. He told Milly from the start, but stupid hope made them all make dumb choices, and now they’re all paying the price.

They’re both more capable than him in every way: physically, mentally, magically. So as he sits there, huddled under the table, it’s all he can do to resist going back to damnable, idiotic hope once again.

He heaves out a large sigh and considers drifting off instead of just staring out the window along the far wall. There’s not much to do and it’ll be a while until dinner. Vash will continue wilting over his desk until then, and Wolfwood can at least—

“Are you done being a brat?”

Wolfwood almost jumps out of his skin as his head swivels around to find Vash knelt at the edge of the table, peering at Wolfwood. He has no idea how the guy can move so quietly. Wolfwood has to assume it’s some magical spirit thing because it’s too unreal to imagine anyone else doing it. He can hear birds hopping around on the branches of this tree they call home better than he can make out Vash moving around inside.

At the very least, since that first bath, Vash has taken to not wearing his coat all the time and sometimes even rolling up his sleeves—like they are now, showing off the green prosthetic refracting light across the ground. Wolfwood gets distracted by the light for a second before shaking his head. Vash is wearing those glasses he only wears while working, too, which means this break won’t last long.

“I’m not a brat,” Wolfwood spits, realizing belatedly that’s exactly what some brat kid would say.

Vash grins like he’s the cat in this situation, way too sly and smarmy. “Sure, bud.”

Oh no, not that nickname again. Wolfwood hisses at him, not even bothering to try to talk anymore. There really is something nice and satisfying about hissing.

“Hey, that’s rude.” Vash’s face falls into a pout. “And here I was trying to encourage you to come out.”

“Why would I?” Wolfwood grumbles as he settles in more and tucks his paws beneath his chest.

“Because it can’t be that comfortable under there. I’ve never understood why cats like hard surfaces. Besides…”

Vash pulls back for a moment, and Wolfwood dares to dream that he’s going to leave. But no, he just rises up on his knees, reaches onto the table’s surface for a moment, and then crouches back down with the biggest grin on his face and a cushion or something clutched in his arms.

“I got you a bed!” Vash beams at Wolfwood.

Wolfwood’s gut twists. Gods, he doesn’t deserve this kindness. How stupid is Vash, after all of this, to keep fucking caring. “Why would I need a bed?”

Vash’s face falls for just a second before a fake smile takes its place, and Wolfwood wishes he could take back his words. “If you refuse to use the couch or my lap, you at least deserve to be comfortable, Nico.”

“No, I don’t,” Wolfwood snaps, ears flicking backward. “Besides, I’m fine right here. You shouldn’t have wasted money and materials on this.”

This is so fucking stupid. He never asked for Vash to care. He never wanted this. Wolfwood fucks up, and Vash is the one trying to make amends? It’s messed up. And Wolfwood should do something, anything , to try and make it right on his end. But he trusts himself to do the right thing least of all.

So he’ll just rot away under the table, and that’s the best he can do.

Vash’s smile grows even more strained. “But it’s comfortable! Just try it?”

Wolfwood stares at him, unblinkingly and unflinchingly. The guy doesn’t even leave the house except to tend to the garden and wander through the woods for herbs. There’s no way he could have bought it. Meaning that he probably made it, which makes it way less right for Wolfwood to accept it. Hopefully he can recycle the materials. Wolfwood can see it’s killing Vash that he’s not accepting this, but he can’t. He can’t . He’d take any punishment above this kindness.

“Here, just—” Vash reaches toward Wolfwood, palm spread wide and coming fast, overwhelming his vision.

Wolfwood’s heart races, blood rushing through his ears as he flinches, scrambling back before his brain catches up with him.

Vash has never hit him. He never would . So why the fuck did he just react like that?

And now Vash is looking at him with his lips parted, brows furrowed, and eyes wide and wet as he clutches his flesh and blood hand to his chest.

Fuck. Fuck . Milly and Vash keep saying they want him to stay, but why ? All he does is hurt them.

“I would never hurt you.” Vash’s voice is so soft that it almost breaks Wolfwood. “Never on purpose. Ever .”

“I deserve it,” Wolfwood spits as he wills his stupid, flared tail to calm down so things can go back to normal, he can settle down, and they can pretend this never happened.

“No.” He’s still quiet, but there’s no gentleness left in Vash’s voice. “You do not. Not ever. And I mean that. Nothing you have ever done or could do will change my mind.”

“You don’t understand what I am. How…” His voice croaks as it escapes in a fractured noise, and he snaps his mouth shut.

How the hell does Vash not see it? He’s pathetic, he’s worthless, he’s useless . He’s a cursed human being that’s been lying to Vash this entire godsdamn time in an attempt to save him from his brother—but that’s not entirely true, is it? It’s just selfish cowardice at this point. He could try to tell him right now, and he might not understand, but at least it would be the truth. Hell, Wolfwood could probably find a way to fulfill the conditions of his curse, and Vash might even help.

But Wolfwood remembers the cold look in those icy eyes and keeps his mouth shut. Because he’s weak, he’s afraid, and he doesn’t deserve Vash.

“I know that you’re Nico.” Vash reaches out again, ever so slowly, and stops just short of Wolfwood’s face. Inviting him to sniff, just like Milly had when they first met. “I know that you’re brash and nosey, and I should have shut my door if I didn’t want you to go in.”

“You’re right in that, at least.” Wolfwood lets out a laugh that sounds far too much like coughing. “You shouldn’t trust me with freedom like that. You shouldn’t trust me at all.”

“That’s not—” Vash sighs, but he doesn’t pull back. “Fine. You shouldn’t have gone into my room. I shouldn’t have reacted so harshly. Fair enough?”

Wolfwood doesn’t lean forward and resists the temptation with everything he’s got. “You were justified.”

“So were you. I’d want to know what was in there, too. You…” Vash glances down for a moment before looking back up. “I’ve known plenty of people who have tried to hurt me on purpose. You’re not one of them.”

Wolfwood stiffens. He wants to ask who the hell hurt Vash and gave him all those fucking scars. He wants their names and addresses so he can scratch their eyes out and bite their ears off. But he also knows Vash wouldn’t want him to do that, he’s too kind. So instead, he asks, “How would you know?”

“I trust you. As much as you think I shouldn’t, I trust you more than I’ve trusted anyone in a long time. Maybe ever. And you don’t get to decide that for me.”

Wolfwood does his best to scowl, even though he knows it probably looks ridiculous—and even though he feels something warm and ridiculous growing inside him at the thought.

He doesn’t deserve it. But he wants it.

Vash smiles a little—not full of warmth, but tentative and real. “And if you’re willing, I’d like to ask you to trust me in return.”

Wolfwood narrows his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I want to try something. A spell.”

For just one more moment, Wolfwood manages to hold out. But then the inevitable happens, and he can’t resist any longer. He stretches out his neck, bumping into Vash’s fingertip.

It’s warm. Vash is always so warm. And he always manages to smell the same; underneath the generic cleanliness of soap, his scent is something sweet and floral. Not like that monstrosity in his garden, but in a way that feels grounded and delicate, like laying in a meadow on a summer day while eating almost, but not quite, overly ripe berries. It’s comfort and familiarity and everything that Vash should be.

Wolfwood gets to his feet, stretching his front legs and then his back as he brushes against Vash and out from under the table. “You can’t just say you want to try a spell and not tell me what it is. How the hell am I supposed to help?”

“You’re not going to help, you don’t need to lift a finger. Or, well, toe bean.” Vash laughs lightly—though obviously not at him, almost like he’s just happy. It’s a sharp contrast to the fake joy that Wolfwood’s seen too much of lately. “You’re going to be the subject.”

The hair stands up on Wolfwood’s back, and he stiffens. The last time he had magic cast on him, it didn’t exactly end well.

But it was a curse. And it wasn’t Vash.

Trust. Vash asked for trust. And Wolfwood wants to trust him.

“What’s the point of it, then?” Wolfwood sits down with muscles tense, the tip of his tail flicking.

If Vash notices his strange behavior, he doesn’t mention it. “I want to make you speak so that I can understand you better. I can get the vague shape of what you’re saying since your feelings are often… blunt. But it takes more out of me than I care to admit, and I’d like to hear you.”

Wolfwood shifts a little, his ears flicking backward. “Magic is hard for you, though. This is a waste of your time.”

“This is something I want to do.” Vash turns, sitting cross-legged beside Wolfwood. “I haven’t worked magic for myself in a while, something that I wanted to do. It’s only been charms for others for months, if not years. Would you let me?”

Oh, that’s not fair. Wolfwood lets out a long sigh and deeply considers telling Vash no. It’s stupid and reckless and pointless. Vash has said that he can understand Wolfwood well enough.

But he’s also said that it’s taxing to listen to Wolfwood and that it takes energy. And has Vash ever asked for anything for himself during the entire time he’s been here? Even if it’s technically to help Wolfwood, it might be the most selfish thing that Vash’s asked for.

“Fine,” Wolfwood grumbles, pointedly ignoring how his heartbeat quickens.

“Yay!” Vash claps his hands in front of him, and Wolfwood almost flinches at the enthusiasm.

Is this what Vash is like when he has energy? It reminds him just a bit of the man he met in that alley—and it’s both endearing and incredibly annoying.

“I already got the prep work done in case you said yes. Just wait one minute…”

Vash hustles around for a moment while Wolfwood just watches. Vash pushes up the carpet a bit and then begins scribbling things on the floor—a magic circle, probably. Wolfwood doesn’t know much, but he’s heard rumors of curses and demons rising from that kinda stuff. He can’t help but extend his claws as he’s set down in the center, reminding himself that Vash’s brother needed nothing this complicated to curse him.

And even more than that, Vash wouldn’t . Wolfwood shouldn’t trust anyone; he learned that lesson the hard way with Chapel. But it’s different with Vash.

Once Wolfwood’s settled, Vash places herbs and a few flowers within each symbol—including one of those geraniums. Did that plant somehow survive? Is that why Vash forgave him so easily?

“Alright.” Vash stands before him, his voice back down to baseline and his brow furrowed with focus. “It’s all set. Sorry for needing to write it out—normally I don’t need to, but…”

But his curse is probably affecting him. “It’s fine. Is it gonna hurt?”

“No. Not even a chance.” And Vash’s voice is firm enough that Wolfwood believes him. Not that Vash would lie about that, but still. “You might feel a little bit of tingling around your throat, but the spell itself won’t bind itself to you or become a part of you. It will be… easier for me if it’s separate from you. What you would feel is just our souls brushing.”

Well, that sounds intimate. Wolfwood’s ears get a little warm, but luckily Vash can’t see shit so Wolfwood says nothing.

Vash adjusts the glasses on his face, eyes alert and eager behind the lenses. “Ready?”

Wolfwood nods, and when it’s clear that Vash won’t continue without a verbal cue, he forces out a firm, “Yeah.”

Vash flashes him a smile, a real one. “Stay still, alright? Interrupting a spell can have strange consequences.”

 Without any more warnings, a furrow forms on his brow and he opens his mouth, but it’s not words that come out. It’s some sort of noise, yeah, but it’s something that Wolfwood feels more than he hears. The sound rattles through his bones and deeper as the room dims, the items on the runes sink into them, and the symbols begin to glow before rising off the ground and hovering around Wolfwood.

This is not like the spells that Vash works on at his desk. Sometimes, when he would sleep on Vash’s lap, he could feel a tickle of magic brushing through his fur, light and almost playful. But this is clearly much more serious. And way too much.

But then the runes come closer, wrapping around his throat, and he doesn’t dare speak. They press in closer, and his skin tingles just like Vash said. It’s like a touch, warm and intimate and somehow very Vash , despite it not being his skin against Wolfwood’s fur. Then the sensation goes deeper and Wolfwood can’t help but shake as it warms something in him he didn’t know was cold. He closes his eyes, sinking into the feeling—

Until it’s suddenly gone.

He blinks, squinting against the light as he tries to snap himself back to reality and normalcy—but something’s off. It’s definitely brighter than before. Way brighter. Almost too much to see by.

“Vash?” Wolfwood dares whisper, not sure if he’s interrupting the spell or if it’s already done.

The light dims enough that he can see, but it’s not coming from the source-less lights that fill the rooms.

It’s coming from Vash.

Chapter Text

Geometric patterns crawl across Vash’s skin in a pale blue light. His eyes are almost entirely blank and white, only filled with that same pattern. And it doesn’t seem to be a part of him, either. As it spreads, it leaves indents in his flesh and presses harder and harder as if the pattern is trying to crack him open.

Blood starts to drip from a line on Vash’s temple, and that’s the final straw. Fuck the spell and any unforeseen circumstances or whatever—Wolfwood’s not letting Vash do this.

“Spikey! Vash !” He leaps outside of the circle, landing at Vash’s feet. 

Vash doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even flinch.

“Godsdammit, you better stop this shit right now , or I’m climbing up you and scratching up your side before I chew off your ear! I’ll bite and tear all your hair out and then eat your eyeballs! It’s not worth it! No spell is worth whatever this is!”

Vash’s head tilts in a slow, floating motion, almost like it’s not fully attached to his body. But then his eyes land on Wolfwood, and from the milky white and glowing lines, his irises emerge as if escaping from a fog.

“Wolf… wood…?” Vash’s eyes flutter shut, and it’s as if the strings holding him upright are cut, his body collapsing onto the ground in a limp heap.

Wolfwood stands at Vash’s feet, his lungs heaving as adrenaline hits him like hail to the face.

He just called him Wolfwood.

Not Nicholas.

Not Nico.

But Wolfwood .

Shit, Vash said that he could read people when their souls were open to him, didn’t he? Could he read Wolfwood for those brief seconds that the magic was working? Is that why it failed? Did Vash realize that Wolfwood is a liar and freak out?

But considering that Wolfwood just destroyed what was apparently a precious and one-of-a-kind family heirloom a few days ago, this seems like a bit of an overreaction. He didn’t even faint back then.

Vash finally starts to shift, and Wolfwood’s stuck somewhere between relief and apprehension. That is until he realizes it’s not Vash moving but something else .

Darkness slithers out from underneath Vash, slow and crawling. It’s vine-like, but not in the same sort of way the moondew was. This is a thicker sort of limb that doesn’t sway but creeps like a snake.

Right toward Wolfwood.

Before he can help it, there’s a snarl on his lips and his back arches, lashing out at the thing with his claws to keep it away. Maybe his idea about this magic circle being able to summon demons or whatever was right. He’s not even sure what demons could be, he always assumed they were just stupid fairy tales. Maybe he was wrong.

The thing recoils back toward Vash, curling in on itself. Wolfwood crouches, ready to leap at it and dig his teeth and claws in. Yeah, he lost his last fight against some creepy plant-like thing like this, but he’s not losing again.

It, however, has other ideas.

The vine rushes out over the floor. And then another follows. And another. Feathers unfurl and expand from beneath Vash, dark and shimmering purple, as paler lilac blooms appear on those slinking vines. 

And while whatever this shit is baffles Wolfwood, that’s not what makes his fur stand on end. No, it’s that these things weren’t summoned or created. They’re coming from Vash .

Wolfwood tries to leap forward again, making good on his promise to do whatever it takes to snap Vash out of it. But the vines and feathers swarm him, sweeping him away in a tide that threatens to consume the whole room. And Wolfwood is too small, too weak, and too old to avoid it.

He scrambles, flailing out until his claws find purchase.

Vash rescued Wolfwood last time. Now it’s his turn.

He crawls his way up on top of a vine so large it could be a branch on Milly’s tree. Fuck , he’s gotta get this under control before Vash hurts Milly. He runs down the length of the vine, dodging offshoots, pushing through feathers, and ignoring how warm and almost flesh-like the bark feels beneath his paws despite how rough it is. The flowers begin to unfurl around him and he’s overwhelmed by the scent of Vash . Light and floral, if a little stronger and less musky than he would be normally.

Vash really isn’t a human or a spirit, is he?

Finally, through the branches, Wolfwood catches a glimpse of gold from a head of hair that’s become more familiar to him than his own old face. He tears through the cage of smaller branches encompassing Vash in a cocoon of sorts. It tears and pulls out his fur, shredding his skin, but it can’t stop him. It won’t .

Wolfwood’s spent enough of his life being a failure who lives under someone else’s thumb. Now he has someone he wants to protect, somewhere he wants to be, and somehow, for some stupid reason, they want him back. Nothing’s taking that from him.

Not even Vash himself. Not until he throws Wolfwood back out and tells him to leave.

“Vash!” Wolfwood cries out, pouring his soul into the name.

There’s a twitch in Vash’s face. The bastard can hear him.

“You idiot, stop it! Whatever’s going on in that spikey head of yours, this isn’t helping! Get ahold of yourself!”

Finally, finally , he breaks free and into the small opening where Vash rests. He’s surrounded by a shell of bark, feathers, and flowers, and it’d almost be peaceful if Wolfwood couldn’t hear slithering from Vash’s extra limbs still spreading inside their home.

He jumps onto Vash, almost falling and wincing as he uses his claws to drag himself up. The hissing of the vines moving around increases, and he swears under his breath as he retracts his claws as far as they’ll go.

Carefully, as slowly as he dares, he works his way up to Vash’s chest. “C’mon, Vash, I know you can hear me. If you don’t stop this, Milly—”

The vines tighten around them, creaking as all light is extinguished. All that’s left is an eery, purple glow from the stamens and specks of light on the flowers—that look suspiciously like geraniums. Wolfwood spent enough time looking at the small cluster that Vash had given him so long ago to recognize them.

Alright, so don’t bring up the damage Vash is doing, got it.

Wolfwood crouches down on Vash’s chest, bracing himself for more movement. He needs to do something, anything, and quick. Vash’s brow is furrowed and sweat gathers along his cheekbones as he pants and lets out soft whimpers. This obviously isn’t good, whatever it is.

Wolfwood reaches his head forward, bumping up against Vash’s cheek and rubbing along the side of his face. “Please, Vash. Please, just get a hold of yourself. I can’t help you like this, just let me know what’s wrong. Let me know what I can do. I’ve got your back if you’ve got mine. Please . Come back.”

He doesn’t even know what he’s saying. Hell, he’s about to start praying to spirits despite knowing spirits.

Then a rumbling fills the room. Wolfwood goes quiet and still, and the noise softens too… Because it’s coming from him.

Oh .

Cats purr, don’t they?

And now that he’s paying attention, the shuffling of the vines and the feathers has gotten softer. He doubles down, brushing up against Vash, making quiet and hopefully soothing noises, all the while purring as hard as he can. It’s a bit of a broken sound, maybe rusty from never having been used before, but it’s loud nonetheless. It’s almost all that Wolfwood can hear—but not quite.

Vash’s growth has stopped. The barrier of the little nest they’re in forms cracks as outside life seeps in. The growth starts to make noise again. Wolfwood braces for the worst, before it’s clear that the vines aren’t spreading farther out, but curling back in retreat. Vash somehow fits all that mass inside a body that feels too small, the darkness sinking into his limbs and back. The lights from the flowers and the markings dissipate, leaving only the light from the windows streaming in to illuminate the mess.

And gods, it is a mess . He’s not sure anything was left unscathed. A bunch of the ornaments from the ceiling are smashed onto the floor, all the chairs at the table are turned over, and there’s even a gouge in the table itself. He can’t make heads or tails of Vash’s desk, there’s a massive gash in the couch, and there are fractures on the walls—

Shit.

“Milly?” Wolfwood dares to murmur. He keeps his voice quiet, hoping it’s enough, but unwilling to disturb Vash—who, if Wolfwood couldn’t feel he was breathing, he’d be pretty sure he was dead.

A second passes, and then another. Wolfwood’s purring starts to stutter despite his best efforts—

“Oh no…”

Milly’s standing in the center of the large living area, eyes flitting around as she takes in all the damage.

Wolfwood could almost cry with relief. He doesn’t know what he’d do if anything happened to the big girl, and he’s pretty sure Vash would be even more upset about it. But she looks no worse for wear, just as tired as usual.

She walks toward them, kneeling down and running a hand through Vash’s hair. “What happened?”

“He tried a spell to make me talk.” Wolfwood flinches. He really should have said no, but Vash was so excited… “It seemed like it was working, but he started glowing, and then that stopped, and he started growing vines and feathers and… Are you okay? This is— This whole tree is you, right? Did it get to you, does it hurt?”

“Hm.” She tilts her head, as if she’s unsure and needs to think about it. “The most significant damage is just a few broken windows, I think. But that’s no big deal. I have a sister who loves glasswork, it’s why there are so many little glass gifts I bring by. It’ll be easy.”

It is not . When Wolfwood accidentally broke a window in Micheal’s Workshop as a kid goofing around, the repair costs came out of his pay for months . It could be that Chapel was lying about what Wolfwood owed, or it could be that they’re spirits, and Wolfwood’s still somehow not used to that.

Or maybe a bit of both.

“Move down to his lap, will you? I can lift you both up and move him to the couch.”

Wolfwood almost offers to jump down and walk after them, but he doesn’t want to risk it. He’s not sure how Milly put together the connection between the purring and Vash calming down, but he’s not going to argue. He shifts as Milly reaches underneath Vash’s shoulders and arms and lifts them up.

There’s a tinkle and a little crash, Wolfwood’s head swiveling just in time to watch mostly tiny bits of ornaments fly off the couch as they approach, like there’s some forcefield pushing them away. He doesn’t see that much dramatic magic like this with Vash, and he’s not sure he’ll ever get used to it.

Once they’re settled, though, Milly’s attention is back on him. “I’m sorry, Wolfwood. That had to have been scary.”

He jolts a bit at the use of his last name. He hadn’t heard it in so long, and now twice in one day? “I just wish I hadn’t agreed to it. It was stupid, he’s always so tired.”

“It’s not on you. Vash knew his curse would affect his magic, and doing this alone was a risk. Though I’m sure he never thought he’d be driven to this state again against his will.” She frowns down at Vash’s face. “It’s not entirely his curse, but it’s a part of it. He’s still figuring it out, just like you are.”

Wolfwood grumbles a bit, looking at Vash, too. He lets his purring mellow out as a wearing ache settles into his bones, but Vash still looks more peaceful than Wolfwood has seen him before.

“How did you get him out of it?” Milly draws Wolfwood’s attention back to her. “It took days last time.”

“It took— What?” Last time ?

She stares at Vash for a long moment before finally explaining in a single word, “Julai.”

It’s always so strange to think about Vash and Julai. Wolfwood knows Vash is attached to it, and it’s not like anyone ever denies it. But Vash is just… Vash . Compared to the demon that Wolfwood had in his head whenever he imagined the Humanoid Typhoon, Vash is practically the opposite.

Even now, having seen a hint of what lurks underneath, it feels unreal. Still makes a shiver run down Wolfwood’s spine, though.

Wolfwood attempts to clear his throat, backtracking to remember what Milly had asked him, even if he can’t take his eyes away from Vash’s face. “I, uh… I told him to snap out of it, I sat on his chest, and I purred. The… everything started retracting after that. I should’ve called you sooner, I was just, well. It was a lot.”

“It was.” She goes quiet then, for long enough that Wolfwood looks up at her.

She’s not looking at Vash, instead smiling gently at Wolfwood. “Thank you for helping him. I know he’s scary when he’s like that, and it was very brave of you. I’m so happy you’re here.”

Wolfwood’s face whips away from Milly, looking back at Vash as his ears get warm and flick backward. Now that she mentions it, yeah, that was kind of an insane thing to do. And if he hadn’t known Vash, if he hadn’t spent so much time in this house and felt so safe in it, he doesn’t know what he would have done. He has a feeling, though, that self-preservation would have kicked in, and he would have hightailed it out of here once the windows broke.

But it’s Vash. And it’s Milly. And it… 

It’s home .

Wolfwood opens his mouth to grumble out something, but Vash twitches beneath him. Then he gasps, curling upright a bit as he starts panting, making small, pained huffs, and—

“Mr. Vash, it’s okay! Everything’s okay.” Milly kneels next to Vash’s head and runs her fingers through his hair. “I’m fine, Mr. Cat is fine, and you’re alright.”

Wolfwood instinctively begins purring as loud as he can again, settling fully on Vash’s lap so that his ribcage is firmly against him. Hopefully this way he can feel it better. He can’t talk, and he shouldn’t talk—not only because Vash has to be wiped out, but because what could he possibly say? But he can do this.

Vash’s eyes focus on Wolfwood, expression blank for a moment as he pants. And then the cracks start to form. His face contorts as his eyes fill with tears, and no one’s surprised when a sob tears free from his throat.

Milly’s on him in a second, holding him tight. It takes no time for Vash’s arms to return the gesture, his hands clutching the back of Milly’s shirt so tightly it’s a miracle he doesn’t rip it. Wolfwood almost gets launched off his lap at the jarring motion, and he balances for dear life, purring as much as he can in an attempt to soothe.

So hard and so loud, in fact, that it takes him far too long to realize that Vash isn’t just sobbing. He’s saying the same phrase over and over again, choking out the words, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry.”

Milly shushes him, calming him as best as she can, but it doesn’t seem to work. Vash keeps apologizing and crying until he runs out of energy again, his hands loosening in their death grip, and his apologies and sobs drift into despondent sniffing instead.

“I think you should rest, Mr. Vash,” Milly says, tentatively pulling away a bit.

Vash is, understandably, a mess. His face is splotchy red, but his hands are pale, and he’s shaking all over. There’s something else wrong, but Wolfwood can’t quite place it, his mind scrambled and reeling from everything.

“But, I haven’t finished—”

“Go to bed.” Wolfwood dares to speak up, trying to meow as indignantly as possible to get the point across.

Vash’s lip begins to wobble again as he looks at Wolfwood, and he bites down on it as if to stop himself. He seems to really think about it for a moment before he finally, thankfully, nods.

Milly lets out a breath. “Good. Mr. Cat, would you get down so I can take him to his bedroom?”

Wolfwood can, but he doesn’t want to. Still, he stands up and—

Vash makes a soft noise, and when Wolfwood turns back, his hand is half-extended toward him. For a fraction of a second, Wolfwood almost sits back down and insists on being taken with Vash.

But then Vash’s hand falls, and Wolfwood lets the thought go.

Vash is tired and out of it, not to mention that Wolfwood’s already invaded the sanctity of Vash’s room once. It’s for the best.

So Wolfwood hops down, Milly picks Vash up, and he follows them to his room.

He won’t be breaking the rules again, but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to stay close by.

A part of him knows that Milly’s right, that he should be terrified and running from what he just saw. And he is terrified. But not for his life—no, that’s been kind of up in the air for a while. He’s worried about Vash, his reaction, and his curse.

Which is probably a sign that something’s wrong with Wolfwood.

But that’s something that he’ll think about another day. Or, if he’s lucky, never.

Chapter Text

It’s been a few hours, and Wolfwood has a plan.

He isn’t sure that Vash is going to like it, though. He’s not sure he likes it.

At least Milly will. Probably. Hopefully.

It might be stupid of him, honestly. It probably is, given everything that led him here and his choices so far. But he’s tired of feeling helpless, and he’s tired of having no control.

Well, he’ll have less control with this decision, more likely than not. He’s not sure exactly what he’s signing up for, but he knows what he’s heard. And yeah, he’s made the mistake of placing his life into undeserving hands before, but here with Vash…

He might be the only person Wolfwood would trust with that kind of control.

He’s going to become Vash’s familiar and hopefully give him some kind of magical stability, whether he likes it or not.

Because, yeah, maybe Vash made the dumbass choice to try and use some spell to make Wolfwood able to talk to him all on his own. But like hell Wolfwood’s gonna stand by and watch him make more mistakes and wither away without at least trying to do a damn thing. Milly said that Vash might not have reached that point if he hadn’t done that spell alone, and Wolfwood was right there . He could have helped if Vash had let him.

Though he can’t say he regrets refusing Milly’s suggestion when she first brought it up. Hell, it had almost seemed like a joke at the time, even if it got under Wolfwood’s skin. And if it were real, he would have resented them both if they forced him into that role. But he’s come to the conclusion on his own, damn the consequences moving forward.

It’s kind of hard to do anything right now, though. Vash has been asleep in his room since Milly put him there early in the afternoon, and Wolfwood’s been lying right outside his door for just as long. Milly cleaned up the disaster downstairs a little before spending some time sitting in the hallway, talking about nothing in particular—the weather, the garden, even taking some playful bets on how long Vash would sleep. But Wolfwood could see her fading long before she said that she needed to rest and that she’d probably be gone for a while. She said to call if he needs her, but it might take a bit to reach her—which, if nothing else tells Wolfwood something needs to change here, that would do it.

And then he was left alone to sit and watch the shadows shift and move until darkness descended. The only light source left is a dim trail along the edges of the hallway, making it so that no one will trip at night.

Wolfwood glares at the lights that come from no source. He knows he’s outside Vash’s room, but he still feels a little weird being so close to someplace he should not be. The door is open behind him, and even being able to look inside feels like an intrusion. For the thousandth time, he considers going downstairs.

He doesn’t, though.

With a great sigh, he shifts to try to alleviate the ache in his bones. The hard floor isn’t kind on his joints, but Vash was onto something with cats sitting on hard surfaces. This would kill him as a human to sit on—even at his much younger age in human years—but it’s just more annoying than usual as an old cat with creaky joints.

He could have asked Milly to bring up the little bed Vash got for him, but he can’t stand the thought that the gift may have been destroyed in everything that happened. Its fate can wait until morning.

“Nicholas?”

Wolfwood jumps to his feet, claws extended, tail fully poofed out… and then it registers who exactly is calling his name so gently. The only person in this house that could call his name right now.

Wolfwood considers running. He could slink downstairs and pretend he wasn’t sitting out here or just that he didn’t hear Vash. It’s not like he was technically doing anything wrong , but he still feels like a weirdo just lying out here.

But if Vash wants him, he’s not going to walk away. He could need help with something. Not that he’d ever ask , but a cat can dream.

Wolfwood turns around, peering into the dimly lit room without crossing the threshold. “Yeah?”

It’s quiet for another moment, just long enough that Wolfwood starts to question if he heard anything. Then, just as soft as before, “C’mere?”

Wolfwood’s first instinct is a firm no, absolutely the fuck not. He can’t trespass in there again.

But Vash established that rule in the first place, and he’s the one inviting him. Asking him, really. It still feels like an intrusion, though, especially with how tired Vash has to be.

Things quickly devolve into the world’s most awkward conversation as Wolfwood takes far too long to respond. “Are you sure?”

Vash didn’t get the memo about making things uncomfortable though, saying with no hesitation, “Yeah.”

It takes another second for Wolfwood to take a deep breath and wander into the room.

The place is cleaner now—or, well, clean has no right to be used in describing this clutter. It’s still a mess. But it’s an organized one, with some things stacked neatly and others tucked away. Probably because he needed to clean up a whole bunch of dirt.

Wolfwood almost turns around at that thought. He’s not that much of a coward, though. He pads a bit closer to Vash’s bed, finding that familiar face peering over the edge of the bed at him.

It’s hard to see too much in this light, even with Wolfwood’s eyes being sharper in this body, but it’s still a relief to find Vash’s irises their normal shade of blue. Not glowing, not white, no eerie lines wrapping around them. Just Vash.

Though maybe that’s all a part of “just Vash,” too.

“Come up here?” Vash’s voice is so soft even in the quiet, as if he’s trying to confess something.

“What, you want me to cuddle with you?” Wolfwood shifts on his feet, kinda wishing Vash would cut to the chase so that Wolfwood could get out of there.

But reality dawns on Wolfwood when Vash doesn’t answer.

Wolfwood won’t get out of here any time soon if Vash has his way. He doesn’t want Wolfwood to leave.

Not only is it just awkward to think about, but a slimy wrongness settles in the back of Wolfwood’s mind. Bathing together was enough of a line to cross when Vash has no idea he’s a human.

Or… does he? Vash called Wolfwood by the same name he did when he was a human right before he passed out. He’s either forgotten Wolfwood’s name, doesn’t remember what he said while he was sprouting vines, or… another situation entirely. Vash clearly knows something’s up with Wolfwood as a cat, but he would have said something if he knew about him being human.

Right?

“Are you sure? You need to rest.” Wolfwood should just say no , but for the second time in a day, Vash is actually asking for something. And Wolfwood is, predictably, weak.

“Yeah.” There’s a beat as Wolfwood still can’t bring himself to jump up. “Unless you don’t want to. I’m sorry, I just assumed it would be more comfortable than the hallway, and I wanted— Well, I assumed. It’s alright, you can leave. I’ll just— Oof .”

Wolfwood jumps up onto the bed, using the momentum to headbutt Vash’s chest. “If I don’t want to do something, I’ll say no. I don’t put up with anyone’s bullshit, especially yours.”

“Thank you, Nico.” There’s a smile in Vash’s voice as he scoots aside to make room for Wolfwood to settle beside him, patting the mattress in front of his chest.

Wolfwood grumbles and mutters as he settles in beside him, up against the warmth of Vash’s ribcage. He may complain about the whole ordeal, but honestly? Yeah, the bed is nicer than the floor. It hurts less, the circulation to his limbs is better, and it’s warmer against Vash.

Then Vash starts petting him and, much to his horror, a sputtering rumble starts in his chest.

Vash hums in a contented sort of way, curling around Wolfwood. “You have the best purr I’ve ever heard.”

Wolfwood is once again grateful that he’s a cat and no one can see how his ears heat up. “And how many have you heard? Should I be jealous?”

Vash snickers a little. “Oh, a few. But they don’t compare to you, so you’re fine. No jealousy needed. I would never seek out any other purr when I have yours right here.”

Wolfwood’s eyes drift shut as Vash continues to stoke him. He does his best to stay awake, but he knows he won’t last long. It’s been a long day—he’s not sure he’s spent this much time awake since he was last in a human body.

“I’m sorry.”

Vash’s voice jolts Wolfwood back to full consciousness.

He blinks a few times, trying to figure out what Vash means, but he’s coming up empty. “What?”

“I hurt you. I scared you. I’m not… I’m not safe ,” Vash whispers, as if he’s afraid to even utter the words.

Wolfwood sighs. “You calmed down the second I started purring on you. If you’re some big bad monster, I sure don’t see it.” 

Well, that’s kind of a lie. Wolfwood would be blind not to see what Vash had become, or not to have an idea about what happened in Julai. But he does know he doesn’t want to leave despite all that, which counts for a lot.

And it also means he’s an idiot for thinking about staying after all that, but that’s not exactly news.

“You’re still hurt.” Vash’s fingers are so gentle—and that’s exactly it, isn’t it? His branches had torn into Wolfwood’s skin, and while the scabs aren’t comfortable , he’s not in any danger. Even if they get infected, it’s not like Vash would let him suffer through it. Even in that form, even when not himself, Vash is still gentle.

It would be easy to just bluff right through this concern, same as Wolfwood did with the last, but that doesn’t seem to be bringing Vash much comfort. “I’ve had way worse from people far crueler than you. I doubt I’ll even have scars from this. If you did it on purpose, if you knew , I’d hate you. But you didn’t, and I don’t.”

For a second, Wolfwood wonders if that was too much, too fast for Vash to catch. He’s gotta be too drained from the day to be able to understand Wolfwood well. And there’s no way in hell the spell worked with how it ended. Wolfwood isn’t an expert, but he’s pretty sure a minor catastrophe isn’t a good sign.

But the way that Vash’s voice shakes when he next speaks says enough. “Then how about a thank you?”

Wolfwood snorts. Vash wouldn’t be in this situation if he hadn’t been trying to work magic for Wolfwood , there’s no reason for Vash to thank him. But sure, he’ll bite. “What for?”

“For saving me. You didn’t have to. You shouldn’t have, honestly. Most people would know better.” There’s a slight mumble to his words, his exhaustion shining through.

“Well, you saved me, too. If you didn’t take me in when Milly dragged me out of the woods, I don’t think I would’ve survived.” It’s hard to even imagine being out there alone when he’s warm and held right now—but the terror of being lost and alone always lurks in the back of his mind right alongside Chapel. “So we’re even.”

“Mmm, I don’t think so. It was easy to let you stay. It wasn’t easy to try and save a monster.” Vash sighs. “I don’t know what I’d be doing if you weren’t here.”

“Well, you probably wouldn’t have tried that shit in the first place. You’d also have more freedom if I were even a regular cat. No needy, elderly jerk to take up so much of your time.”

“Sounds awful.” The grimace is obviously in Vash’s voice, even if Wolfwood can’t see it. But the worst part is that it sounds earnest .

“Sounds a whole lot easier,” Wolfwood grumbles, shifting a little.

“You really want to believe you’re so unlovable, huh?” Vash ruffles the fur between Wolfwood’s ears, ignoring his offended attempt at a growl. “Well, you’re not. So there.”

Wolfwood? Lovable ? He’s grouchy, he’s distant, he takes up too many resources, he spends most of his days sleeping now—and that last one’s the only new one with this different body. Wolfwood was a piece of work before, too. Chapel made that very clear, and he could see how awkward he made Livio feel sometimes. Even his coworkers kept their distance. 

“I’ll accept that when I’ve earned it.” Wolfwood does his best to dismiss Vash, but it’s undercut by his purring. He could stop, but…

Vash sighs, his hand moving slower and slower with each stroke. “You don’t have to stay in bed with me, by the way. It’s just… nice. To not be alone. So thank you for indulging me for a bit.”

Wolfwood doesn’t shift his weight uncomfortably and absolutely doesn’t feel a slight sting at the change of topic. “Even though I’m invading your space and breaking your one rule again?”

“You’ve already been in here before, so it doesn’t matter anymore.” And before Wolfwood can think about what that means, he continues,  “Besides, are you going to knock over my geraniums again?”

He stiffens, even as a part of him breathes easier to know for sure that they aren’t dead. “No.”

“Then we’re fine.” Vash stops petting him, removing his hand. “If you want to stay, of course. You don’t have to. You have a bed now— Well, if it survived…”

“I do. Want to stay, I mean.” The words are out of Wolfwood’s mouth before he considers them, wanting to stop Vash’s mind from taking that route. And now that they’re out there, he can’t take them back. Not because he physically can’t leave, because Vash would let him go. But he doesn’t want to. “I mean, you have a nice bed.”

“Good.” And then one of Vash’s arms wraps around Wolfwood, dragging him in close and yet gentle as he holds him. He’s probably taken off his other arm, and that’s a good thing or else Wolfwood would be smothered .

A small noise escapes Wolfwood, but he doesn’t fight it. If anything, he settles into Vash’s chest, tucking himself into his arm. He came in here to comfort Vash, but something is soothed in Wolfwood at the embrace. It’s not a touch that’s demanding or expectant, it’s not asking for anything. It’s just giving, and it’s almost too much for Wolfwood to take. The warmth that builds inside of his chest feels like it will crack through his ribcage.

It doesn’t, though. Instead, the only thing that happens is Vash’s breathing begins to even out, and Wolfwood finds himself drifting more and more with it. But not yet—no, he has one more thing he needs to say.

“Hey, you awake?” Wolfwood croaks out, poking a paw at him.

Vash gives a sleepy hum of acknowledgment, and Wolfwood almost puts it off.

But he doesn’t want to chicken out. Not for either of their sakes.

“I want to be your familiar.”

Vash goes stiff as a board against him, sucking in a deep breath. Silence stretches, and it’s smothering . Too late, Wolfwood remembers that Vash also shot down the offer to take Wolfwood as a familiar when Milly mentioned it.

But it’s worth talking about at least, right?

Eventually, Vash’s muscles go slack—save for his arm as it draws Wolfwood even closer, threatening to smother him.

“We’ll talk about it in the morning, okay?”

He doesn’t sound angry or even upset. Just… tired. Maybe it just caught him off guard.

“Yeah.”

This time, Wolfwood doesn’t interrupt as Vash drifts off again. He’s pressed so closely to Vash that it’s clear as day to feel and hear as his heartbeat slows down to a steady, calm rhythm.

Wolfwood lets his purring peter out, but his own heart seems to take its sweet time calming down as he sits there, trying—and failing—to not think too much about everything . He’s noticed his heart beats a little faster in general with this body, but this is just annoying. He wants to sleep, and needs to sleep if he’s gonna push Vash on this tomorrow. It might not end up being a fight, but knowing him…

Finally, the warmth and the steady heartbeat against him drags against his eyelids, pulling them down—

Until something on Vash’s nightstand catches his eye.

The surface isn’t smothered by books anymore, even though there are still a few piled there. But there’s only one little knick-knack placed in front of them. He wants to say it’s too dim for his sharper eyes to make out the shape, but he knows it far too well from holding it and running his fingers across it for years, maybe over a decade.

Perched far enough from the edge to keep it safe from harm is Wolfwood’s carved bird that he gave Vash the first time he saw him.

Chapter Text

“What happened to your hair ?” Wolfwood yowls as Vash waltzes downstairs in the morning. 

Lingering in the room after waking up before Vash felt a little weird, and Wolfwood figured he should try and clean up what he could while Vash slept.

Well, he couldn’t clean as Milly had taken care of anything he might’ve been able to handle in his small, thumb-less body, and apparently Vash hadn’t been sleeping and instead dyed part of his hair black , so that plan went to hell.

Vash laughs, and it’s so fake he doesn’t even bother trying to smile outside of the corners of his lips curving up. “Ah, I didn’t exactly have a choice. The spell did it. Or, well, I suppose it wasn’t exactly because of the spell, since that failed. The problem was more the curse being activated during the whole thing that changed it, though that’s a technicality. It looks silly, I know. I felt it starting to grow from my roots as I came back to myself, and I’d hoped… Well, it’s here to stay now!”

At least that explains what was so off about him as he was lying on the couch yesterday. Wolfwood must have caught sight of more black starting to bleed out from his scalp. It’s gotta be at least half of his hair that’s gone black now, though it’s hard to tell with how mussed it still is from sleep; he must not have bothered to even try and tame it.

Which is concerning enough on its own. But Wolfwood had written off his strangely-colored hair as magical nonsense or a weird fashion choice, but… The longer this goes on, the more Wolfwood realizes he doesn’t understand shit about magic. And if this is Vash’s curse…

Guilt worms its way into the back of Wolfwood’s mind as he realizes he left Vash to wake up like that alone. In fact, he sorta fled the room as soon as possible and didn’t so much as look back to notice this.

“Anyway, how about breakfast?” Vash strides over to the kitchen, Wolfwood trailing at his heels. “You have to be starving at this point.”

“I guess I’m kinda hungry.” Wolfwood’s stomach is pretty sour after this whole revelation, but he’s not exactly gonna say that or else Vash will take the excuse to get right to work after losing so much time yesterday. So he sits at Vash’s feet while he works on the counter above and out of sight. “But more importantly, what do you think about me being your familiar?”

“Food first!” Vash smiles down at him, and Wolfwood’s ears flick back because he recognizes that particular expression. “No one can think on an empty stomach.”

A fair enough statement… Until breakfast is done. And then no one can think while they have work to do, either. Or herbs to collect. Or cats to bathe. Or wounds—scratches, if you asked Wolfwood to categorize what’s on his back—to treat. Or when they need sleep, or when they need to read, or literally anything. Vash has even started bringing Wolfwood up to bed with him at night, and Wolfwood wouldn’t be surprised if it was specifically to smother him with how tightly he holds him.

So Vash’s hesitation that night in bed hadn’t been that Wolfwood had caught him off-guard, but rather that he was avoiding the topic entirely. Maybe he’d already made up his mind.

Which, if that’s the case, then fine. Vash could tell him no, and while Wolfwood would absolutely be curious to know why, sure, he wouldn’t push it. He can’t force Vash to do anything he doesn’t want to, and he wouldn’t choose to make him if he could.

Well, aside from getting him to take care of himself, maybe. Even then… Wolfwood knows what it’s like to do things without a choice. But if he could figure out what makes Vash tick and convince him to want to help himself, that might be nice. Like, y’know, taking on Wolfwood as a familiar to ease the burden on his shoulders.

But Vash doesn’t talk to Wolfwood about that. Vash will chat with him about everything else under the sun, even when the bags beneath his eyes get especially dark and he barely makes any sense.

Just not about the topic he should be discussing.

Wolfwood doesn’t let up—he’s quickly learning how to match the guy’s level of stubbornness, much to Vash’s obvious dismay. But even Wolfwood has his limits. One day passes, then turns to two, and by the third day he’s done .

It’s midday before he pads over to Vash while he’s working, and maybe for the dozenth time today, he yowls, “I want to be your familiar.”

Vash glances at him, face too neutral to be natural. “I can’t understand you, Nico. I must be too tired, I’m sorry.”

Well now, that’s a new one. And it’s absolute bullshit, too. Vash could understand him after the exhaustion of his geraniums being almost destroyed and bringing Wolfwood back from the dead, and even after that spell to get Wolfwood to talk went upside down and sideways. Besides, if Vash even had an inkling of a hint that Wolfwood had something to say even if he couldn’t understand him, it’s not like him to just not do anything. Wolfwood doesn’t bother Vash while he’s working unless it’s something important, and he knows that.

So he’s just being an ass about this.

Some days, Wolfwood wonders which of the two of them is really more cat-like than the other.

So Wolfwood sits down, tilts his head back, and yells even louder, “ Milly ! I need you!”

“Hey, that’s not fair!” Vash frowns at him—but also turns his body fully toward Wolfwood.

“I thought you couldn’t understand me?” Wolfwood gives his best grin, showing off his fangs. “Who’s the brat this time?”

Vash sighs, rubbing at his face before glaring at Wolfwood. “Just… let her rest, alright? Why are you so hung up on this, anyway?”

Wolfwood has no intention of dragging Milly out of her slumber anytime soon, so he was careful not to put any real force into his call. She deserves to rest, and he agrees with Vash on that, at least. Her sister has already fixed the windows somehow, and there hasn’t been a reason to bother her awake. But he’ll absolutely drag her into this argument the moment she’s up for it, and knowing her, she’ll help him win his whole thing and keep Vash from slithering out of it.

Vash, being able to read Wolfwood’s emotional intent, probably knows at least some part of this and can see it for the threat and promise that it is.

“I’m bored, I want to help, and it’s a sweet deal, right?” Wolfwood tilts his head. “I’ll have something to do, and you get basically a magical slave or whatever.”

“ No !” Vash stands up before going still, like he has no plan for what to do next. But then he lets out a breath, his shoulders lowering as he crouches down and gets as close to Wolfwood’s level as possible. “It’s… it’s like a bargain. We both get something out of it. A home and shelter is enough for most animals, but they also enjoy learning.”

“Learning? What, some dog can learn magic?” Wolfwood snorts, imagining a puppy sitting at Vash’s desk, barking at the spell packets.

“Yes, exactly.”

But that… “Your average animal is capable of casting magic?”

“I mean, to a degree. Just like you can train a dog to do basic physical tricks, they can handle doing some magic to make their life more enjoyable. And being linked to a witch’s soul does tend to increase their intelligence and magical aptitude.”

Oh. Maybe Wolfwood should have pretended to be another witch’s familiar or something when he got here. That might’ve excused why he’s strangely smart for a cat. Not that he could have known Vash would pick up on that, nor does he want to lie to Vash now. Back then was obviously a different story, and he told his fibs and half-truths and has stood by them. At this point, though? Another falsehood would suffocate him.

“If you thought being a familiar was literal slavery, why on earth would you even offer ?” Vash’s brow furrows, the concern etched into his face so honest that it aches to look at. “You don’t deserve that. No matter what you’ve been through before, you will never be that to me.”

“I know I won’t, and that’s why I offered.” Wolfwood’s tail flicks despite himself. “Despite… everything, I guess, if I hav to have an owner , I could handle it if it were you.”

He doesn’t mean to say “owner” with such venom, but he can’t help it. Not with Chapel’s face flashing violently in his mind. And, truth be told, he doesn’t want to trade one master for another in general. Before this whole curse thing, he dreamed of being independent and on his own. Now…

Well, his options are limited. And it really wouldn’t be so bad to stay here for whatever time he has left or until his curse is broken. And if he stays, he wants to be a part of this house, not a passive observer.

“I will never be that to you. I will not play that role.” Vash’s voice is so firm that it startles Wolfwood. “And I don’t ever want you to be something lesser to me. When I said I trust you, I meant it. Ownership isn’t trust. I know that better than you might imagine.”

Wolfwood forces himself to keep his eyes still and on Vash’s face instead of wandering and looking for a hint of those scars of his. There may be a lot of times he’d call bullshit on Vash, but not with this. “Why the hell would anyone want a familiar, then? Isn’t it just a hassle?”

Vash huffs out a laugh, some of the tension draining from his frame. “Why does anyone have any relationship? I called it a bargain, but maybe a partnership is a better word. Two pools of magic are better than one. Two brains are better than one— yes , even if it’s an animal. And it doesn’t have to be an animal. I could have Milly as my familiar or the other way around. And we do work magic together, but we aren’t connected like that. It’s simpler with an animal since it’s easier to be on the same wavelength, though.”

“Ah.” Wolfwood’s ears flick back. “That’s why you don’t want me as a familiar, then? Because I’m… like this.”

Vash rolls his eyes. “Of course that’s what you’d take from that. No , I don’t want you to be more involved in this mess than you already are.”

“And if I want to be?” Wolfwood’s ears perk up. He thought he was fighting a losing battle, but that doesn’t sound like a rejection.

With a deep sigh, Vash rubs his forehead with his prosthetic hand. “I guess if you wanted this when you thought it was slavery, nothing will stop you now.”

“What do you want?” If this is supposed to be a partnership, Wolfwood isn’t roping anyone into shit. When it was just him on the line, whatever. He doesn’t have much else to give. But Vash deserves a say, too.

Vash takes his time searching Wolfwood’s face before something settles in his eyes. 

“I think, maybe, if it’ll get you off my back, I’d like it too.” Try as Vash might to sound put out, the fondness in his voice is evident, and Wolfwood perks up. “It might help me get these damn spells done before it’s too late since I’ve been getting nowhere. Not to mention, I’ve a been trying to solve a problem that I haven’t been able to fix on my own, so this would be a new approach, and… Well, it might be nice to not be so alone, if even for a bit.”

Wolfwood’s ears perk a bit at this problem the bond might help—maybe Vash’s curse? But now isn’t the time to poke at that hornet’s nest. He’s gotta keep his eye on the prize.

“Anything else I should know about before we do this?” Now that it’s real and happening, the slightest unease creeps up Wolfwood’s spine—but he’s not about to show that to Vash.

It’s weird, honestly. The idea of a partnership gets to him more than becoming a slave. He doesn’t know what sorta fucked up thing that says about him, but it sure says it loudly and proudly.

“Well…” Vash looks off into the distance, tapping his lip. “The process is essentially connecting our souls so we can communicate and exchange magic. It typically increases the lifespan of the familiar, though our lives won’t be firmly tied. If I die, typically my familiar shouldn’t die, and vice versa.”

Typically ? One of Wolfwood’s ears twitch back, but he lets Vash continue.

“Oh!” He beams at Wolfwood. “And I’ll be able to understand you as clearly as Milly can, including it taking no effort.”

Wolfwood splutters. “So why didn’t we try this first ?”

“It’s too much of a commitment, not to mention a few other issues. And I… I didn’t know the spell would end like that. In retrospect, I should have known better.” Vash looks down at his hands, fidgeting. “What I was trying was more advanced magic, and I knew it would take it out of me. I just hadn’t expected… that to awaken.”

Vash’s curse, then? Wolfwood’s trying to learn, but it’s impossible to understand what the hell is going on with Vash and how curses work when Wolfwood’s own curse is just there, existing freely with no conditions.

“Anyway, it’s a little extreme, isn’t it? Tying our souls together to help me understand you.” Vash laughs, a tittering and nervous thing. He’s being a little dodgy about something, but he’s not shying away from the familiar situation, at least. Maybe it’s the guilt of the spell going awry. “And you said you didn’t want to be a familiar before, so I wasn’t going to question that.”

Wolfwood almost calls Vash out and says that people change their minds all the time, it doesn’t hurt to ask—but he’s not gonna let them keep circling around the real questions. “So, is there a risk this time?”

Vash shakes his head. “Not like before, and definitely not to you and Milly. There’s little chance of any dramatic reaction. This barely has anything to do with actual magic work. It’s a delicate process, but it’s much more basic. A child could theoretically have a familiar, though you shouldn’t give a kid that sort of power and responsibility. It’s less energy than the spells I work on for the queen.”

Wolfwood had been pretty sure Vash wouldn’t have agreed after all that if he thought there was a chance he’d lose control again—but Wolfwood was asking more for himself than anything else. “Then let’s do it.”

Vash smiles at him, and it’s not entirely real but not entirely fake, either. Before he can pick it apart, Vash rolls up his sleeves a little more and sits back down at his desk. Wolfwood doesn’t think he’s put on his coat other than to go outside since that incident with the geraniums—something surprisingly reasonable for the guy. It’s not quite like he’s showing off his scars and prosthetic after being so careful not to show them before, just… like he’s comfortable.

Now’s not the time to think too much about that, though. 

Vash grabs his coat from the back of the chair, takes hold of a pair of scissors, and trims off a bit of the fabric from one sleeve even as Wolfwood bristles.

“You need something personal of mine, and this is the most personal thing I own aside from the geraniums. This will be much more practical than that.” He runs a finger along the rough edge of the cut on both his coat and the ring of fabric, causing the frayed threads of fabric to weave back in smoothly before he reaches down and slips it around Wolfwood’s neck.

At first, Wolfwood thinks it will be too loose and just fall off all the time—but then it tightens. Not enough that it feels like a collar and he’s chained, but just enough that he can feel it resting there.

“Now something of yours…” Vash frowns, glancing around as if something will magically jump out at him.

But it’s not like Wolfwood has anything here—nothing that would work for this purpose, at least. There’s the bed that Vash gave him which, miracle of miracles, did survive the spell incident. The only other thing in this house that was once his is the carved bird that taunts Wolfwood from Vash’s nightstand every evening. Those aren’t exactly his , though. All he truly owns is the fur on his back—

Oh. Well, it may be a little gross, but Wolfwood bends and grabs a tuft of loose fur from his side in his mouth. He’s bee sheddings so much that he assumes spring must be coming quicker than usual—but it’s been weeks, and the snow’s been falling regularly. He’s just a weird, janky, elderly cat.

Vash huffs out a laugh, his smile finally reaching his eyes. “Give me one second.”

He digs through the many drawers of his desk, some so full that junk erupts from them when opened. Gods, if Wolfwood ever gets his thumbs back, he will be organizing this place whether Vash likes it or not.

“Aha! I used to carry specialty ingredients around in this when I used to go into the villages, but it’ll be perfect for this.” Vash bends down and holds out a locket of sorts. It’s pretty plain, nothing intricate or complex. Just simple silver.

Wolfwood does his best to spit his hair into it while making a face. Vash tries—and fails—not to laugh. Then he clips it around his neck and holds out a hand.

“Your paw, please?”

Wolfwood hesitates before following Vash’s instructions, distracted for half a second by Vash’s warmth against the pads of his paw before Vash speaks again.

“I promise that I won’t drain too much magic from you, and I will always ask for permission before we work together. No matter how much you think you deserve it, I will not show you cruelty. You will be safe in this pact and with me, and I’ll make sure of it.”

The silence stretches on for an uncomfortable moment before Wolfwood realizes Vash expects him to respond . Like this is a wedding or some shit.

“And I…” Gods, what can he even say to that? What can he even offer Vash outside of magic? Because he could just give Vash only that much, and he knows Vash would be okay with it. It might even make him happy.

But it wouldn’t make Wolfwood happy.

He knows what does give him satisfaction, though. And it’s pathetic that it’s all he can offer right now, especially with their curses breathing down their necks, but he still meets Vash’s eye as he says it. “I promise that I will take care of you. I’ll keep you as happy and healthy as I can. No matter if you think you deserve it.”

Vash’s eyes go wide and his mouth pops open into a small “o” while something in the room shifts. Or maybe it’s something in Wolfwood that changes. It’s as if a wind blows through his fur, yet he knows he doesn’t feel a single hair move. It’s like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, and he doesn’t even know what it was.

It’s almost as if he spent his whole life alone, and for the first time, he reached out and held someone’s hand.

Nothing monumental has changed. There’s nothing obviously different. And yet nothing’s the same.

Vash clears his throat, his voice shaky in a way Wolfwood can empathize with. “So… Do you want to learn some magic, then?”

Chapter Text

The more time he spends in this house and the more his routine changes, the more fond Wolfwood grows of it.

Which is kinda funny to think about because the same couldn’t be said for his years with Chapel. Any change meant new rules and new fuck-ups, which were inevitably followed very closely by new punishments. 

And yet, no matter how many of the changes now are preceded by Wolfwood’s own mistakes and prove that he should be kicked out, it only becomes more of a home. Because at the end of the day, if Wolfwood makes an effort, Vash will meet him halfway.

Vash involves Wolfwood in everything now. And gods, it’s so nice to be busy again. He now knows the exact herbs, powders, and stones that go into each batch of packets Vash creates for the queen, and what each of them do. Which the amount of protection, safety, and peace that’s crammed into those little things makes Wolfwood understand why the queen needs Vash now. This stuff doesn’t seem like it should be possible—but Vash pulls it off.

And not only does Wolfwood get to be more involved, but when he harasses Vash into using Wolfwood’s magic because that’s the point , he doesn’t get nearly as exhausted. Vash still spends most of his time at his desk, toiling away, sure. But he did bring Wolfwood’s bed onto the surface which allows him to supervise everything, and having Wolfwood’s energy has made his production almost double. Vash now lets Wolfwood perch on his shoulder as he goes out into the garden or the forest and tells him all about the plants and his favorite locations along the paths he follows. There’s apparently a waterfall that he wants to show Wolfwood in spring, but it’s too treacherous to get there right now.

The problem is that though Vash’s better, he’s not cured. He can work longer, but he hits his walls so suddenly that he’ll just fall asleep at his desk. The deep bags under his eyes don’t go away. He loses his train of thought in the middle of talking more often, much to his visible frustration. And there’s something new in the back of Wolfwood’s mind, something raw and foreign, that makes him much more aware of what Vash is going through.

And Wolfwood wonders if they’ll have until the spring to figure out Vash’s curse so they can see that waterfall together.

Milly is, of course, thrilled when she pops back up and learns that Wolfwood’s stepped into the role of familiar and Vash his witch. Though her enthusiasm seems tempered, probably because she’s exhausted too. And when Wolfwood presses on what’s happening and how is this getting worse , she just smiles and changes the subject, saying she doesn’t know.

Well, fuck that.

He glowers at the wall from his perch on Vash’s back. He fell asleep on the desk again, and whenever Wolfwood’s tried to wake him up when this has happened before, he just straightens his glasses and goes back to work. But if Wolfwood gets up on him and purrs, it keeps him asleep longer.

So he purrs.

Angrily .

At this point, Wolfwood’s not even sure being a human would help him figure things out. He’s learned plenty of smaller spells and words of power, and they’ve glossed over curses enough that Wolfwood’s picked up a couple things. But what little Wolfwood’s learned is more than enough to grasp that curses might be the most complex magic out there. They call them a dark art not only because they’re nasty stuff but also because it’s so easy to lose yourself in that kind of magic and in curses themselves.

Which makes it beyond unfair that Vash’s brother can just waltz in and cast a curse as easily as someone else might pass gas.

And he can see how Vash might be able to take Wolfwood’s curse off him if he had anything near his brother’s power—and he might, when he’s well. But his curse seems to be eating him alive. And if Vash can’t break his own curse in the state, it’s hopeless for Wolfwood to expect his help.

It tempts him to just stop struggling and let go, stop grappling with fate like this. Thoughts like these only add fuel to that fire. But then he remembers the way Vash’s eyes crinkle when he smiles and means it, the way he almost snuffs the life out of Wolfwood as he holds him while falling asleep, and the gentle way he talks and treats Wolfwood with respect even when he’s being an ass.

And Wolfwood can’t bear to give up.

A knock rings through the room, then. A second passes as Wolfwood thinks he must have imagined it, too caught up in his own thoughts—but then it comes again, and Vash begins to stir.

He hops down from Vash, stalking toward the front of the house with a huff. Vash needed that nap and Wolfwood might’ve been able to keep him asleep by purring for another hour.

Vash isn’t far behind him, rubbing at his eyes and muttering softly to himself as he opens the door.

And, once again, Vash is being glared at by that short lady, Meryl.

Wolfwood barely holds back a hiss. He really doesn’t want to get berated by her. He feels like shit enough of the time, and the rest of the time, he’s actually enjoying what he has here. And if that glare says anything, it’s that this woman holds grudges.

“Meryl!” Vash, at least, seems to be genuinely happy to see her. His voice is loud, and the smile on his face reaches his eyes.

Wolfwood’s tail swishes back and forth as he firmly tells himself he is not jealous because there’s nothing to be jealous about . Besides, he’s just a cat, and Vash can go smiling at whoever he likes.

Her glare softens, then drops as her eyes go wide. “Your hair ! What happened?”

“Ah… There was, well, an incident.” Vash rubs at the hair on the back of his head, his smile going strained.

She swivels toward Wolfwood, baring her teeth. “If it was you again—”

Vash places a hand on her shoulder before she can barge in. A shame, Wolfwood was looking forward to digging his claws into her. 

“He did nothing wrong. I made a mistake, and he saved me.” Vash’s voice is firm and steady, even though Wolfwood knows how much that moment upsets him to this day.

“A cat saved you?” Meryl deadpans.

“Yeah, and what about it?” Wolfwood stretches before giving a wide yawn. 

“Anyway, he’s my familiar now, so it would be nice if you two got along!” Vash’s expression takes an edge to it that even Wolfwood wouldn’t dare risk pushing against.

Meryl seems to be on the same page, taking a step back and sighing deeply. “So Milly had been telling the truth.”

Milly? How the hell did she talk to Meryl, has she left somehow? Y’know, Wolfwood should know better than to ask questions at this point. Maybe spirits have secret ways of communicating over long distances. Maybe Milly writes letters and sends them. He’ll bother her about it later.

“Yep!” Vash pops the “p” as he turns back into the house and walks over to his desk. “Speaking of, Nicholas has helped me a lot in getting these done. It’s not the full order but it’s enough to start!”

He grabs the basket full of little packets, hefting it over and shoving it into Meryl’s waiting arms. She lets out a soft oof , stumbling back a step before Vash reaches out a hand and rights her.

It’s stupid and pointless and he knows it, but Wolfwood wishes Vash would just stop touching her. It’s meaningless to get upset about. They’re friends . And if they were anything else on top of that, then that’s their business —

Wolfwood’s face twists into a grimace. He really doesn’t need to think about that. 

“Thank you,” Meryl wheezes out. “But I didn’t just come for these. I’m taking your cat, too.”

Wolfwood finally does hiss at that, bristling as she rolls her eyes at him.

“You want… Nico?” Vash looks between the two of them, brow furrowing. “He’s my familiar and my cat. You can’t just take him.”

“I’m more… borrowing him.” Meryl shrugs, but the glares she keeps throwing Wolfwood don’t make the gesture feel casual. “The queen is curious. As far as anyone knows, you haven’t had a familiar your whole life. She just wants to make sure you’re safe, you know how it is.”

“I can look after myself, you know.” It’s Vash’s turn to bristle. “I’m not a child or a fool.”

She eyes him like she wants to argue—and, honestly, Wolfwood’s a little tempted to do the same. Vash is both the smartest and stupidest person Wolfwood’s known his whole life. But while Vash can make dumb choices and push himself too much, he does think things through. Though, in retrospect, maybe accepting a familiar that he knows is weird and he hasn’t even questioned him about that weirdness falls under the label of “foolish.”

“I know,” Meryl says carefully, choosing her words like there’s more she wants to say but knows better. “But you know her. She cares too much, just like you do.”

Vash hums, frowning as he looks to Wolfwood. “Do you want to go?”

Wolfwood blinks at him, realizing he didn’t even consider the possibility. It’s not like these kinds of choices were ever his to make before.

Well, it’s not every day that you get the opportunity to meet the queen of Gunsmoke. It makes his fur stand on end a bit, though. He’s never known anyone half as important as the queen, though apparently Vash knows her.

Rationally, Wolfwood’s known that Vash has some dealings with the queen. But it felt so distant and surreal while sitting in their cozy home, watching the way Vash’s glasses gleam in the flickering firelight until Wolfwood accidentally breathes in some of the strange powders and sneezes, making Vash crack up until he’s wheezing. Going to the palace and meeting someone that grand and majestic… That’s a whole other world.

“It’s your choice.” Meryl shrugs, careful not to jostle the basket too much. “But I wouldn’t take slighting the queen lightly. You may be absolutely nothing to her, but I wouldn’t count on her being the type to forgive and forget when we all care about Vash as much as we do.”

“ Meryl ,” Vash hisses. He walks over and kneels in front of Wolfwood, blocking her from view. “You won’t get in trouble if you don’t want to go. I’ll make sure of it. The queen is an old friend, and she’s very kind to those who haven’t wronged her. She’ll understand.”

How the hell does anyone become an “old friend” of the queen ?

Still, while Vash doesn’t seem put out by the whole thing, it sounds like one hell of a hassle to have to contact the queen and plead for mercy for your cat . Besides, Wolfwood has a lot of questions. Ones he probably won’t get answers from Vash on, even if he could just tell him.

So yeah, Wolfwood should probably say no. He’s out of his depth here. He has no idea how to act around royalty—which, well, works out since any average cat wouldn’t know the difference between royalty and an orphan. But the queen wanting to see him is such a wild thought that he just can’t shake it. And, well, curiosity did kill the cat… “Alright, I’ll go.”

Vash stares at him a moment longer, searching for something. He must find it because he nods, gently grabs hold of Wolfwood, and deposits him into the basket amongst the packets. Meryl makes an exaggerated grunt, like Wolfwood is too heavy, and Wolfwood dares to turn, disturb the packets more, and glare at her.

She grins wickedly.

“If you need anything, call for me.” Vash scratches gently behind Wolfwood’s ear, and if Meryl sees him lean into it, so what? “I’ll be able to hear it through our connection, and I’ll come running.”

“Vash, you shouldn’t—”

“He’s my responsibility. I made a promise to him, and I intend to keep it.” He smiles at Wolfwood before withdrawing. “I know you’ll keep him safe, Meryl, but he should know there are options in an emergency.”

“You could come with, if you wanted to.” Wolfwood tries to sound casual, but he knows he doesn’t. He’d kill to go with anyone but Meryl.

“I… I can’t.” Vash looks away before turning entirely and walking back toward his desk. A clear dismissal, even if that niggling feeling at the back of his head says that’s not exactly what’s going on here—but then he’s cut off, and things go quiet. “Have fun, you two!”

Meryl sighs before she turns away herself, the door shutting softly behind her. She only walks a few steps out the door before she stops and glances down at Wolfwood “I’d dig your claws into the basket if I were you. I’m not as gentle as Milly.”

Wolfwood braces himself, his ears flicking back. “What?”

The world shifts around Wolfwood. It blurs into broad strokes of color—brown and white, black and blue—then spins so fast that he can’t even recognize anything in the blur. All he can do is hang on for dear life as his stomach churns .

He’d forgotten that this was the way that Milly had brought him to her tree, and he wishes that memory had stayed forgotten.

After what might’ve been hours or seconds, the world finally stops flying around. Wolfwood gasps in a deep breath and pointedly ignores Meryl as she snickers.

Instead, his eyes wander to the town—no, the city surrounding them.

It’s a little warmer here than at the tree. He’s not sure if that means whether this place, Octovern, is further north or south. He only knows enough that it’s one of those two. Which makes sense, because they seemed to be somewhat close to December before, what with the weather being the same. But this is nothing like December. He’d never thought of his home as quaint before, but with its small buildings and narrow streets, with a population small enough that many faces are largely familiar even to a shut-in like him, it absolutely is.

The buildings here tower over him, and not because he’s a cat. Even in his human form, they’d make him feel small again. There isn’t a single-story building on the entire block, and the architecture is extravagant. It’s like every stone of every building was placed so intentionally, and so much of it is decorated in carvings and accents that no one would dare call it plain. Many of looping designs play around some magic symbols that Wolfwood’s picked up from Vash—though he’s not sure if they’re different because of Vash’s own flair or because these are ornamental.

All the people are dressed so well, too. Elegant suits, flowing cloaks, intricate dresses—it’s a whole other world. There are even a bunch of carriages with the most groomed thoma that Wolfwood’s ever seen. None of them notice Meryl or her basket—none of them even look . Wolfwood suspects some magic is involved in cloaking them, and it’s almost an invitation to gawk more.

As they walk, Wolfwood doesn’t even recognize what half the shopfronts they pass are selling. He’s sure that if he were with Vash, they’d pop into a few, and he’d show Wolfwood around. With how involved it sounds like he was—which is still a weird thought, considering how he lives now—he’d probably know a bunch of shopkeepers and customers, too.

But he’s not here with Vash. Unfortunately.

It is kind of nice, though. Not so long ago, he couldn’t even step outside the workshop without feeling overwhelmed, crushed by his isolation and the weight of Chapel’s threats. But here and now, with someone who’s almost a complete stranger, he feels alright. He’s not exactly thrilled with the situation, but he’s fine with it.

“Enjoying the view? You should’ve seen this place during the winter festival. Nowhere else matches the splendor of Octovern and its celebrations.”

Wolfwood swivels to take in her expression, but it seems like she means the comment innocently enough—even if he still doesn’t trust her. “Yeah, I’m sure,, but… Couldn’t you have just transported us to the castle?”

“Sure, I could. But we’re gonna take the long way.” She doesn’t look down at Wolfwood, and she can’t stop glancing around. Almost like she’s nervous. “I want to talk to you.”

Wolfwood hunkers down in the basket, his ears pressed back to his head as he digs his claws into the basket. He’s not sure if that’s supposed to be a threat, but even if it isn’t, it sure feels like one.

Chapter Text

A moment passes while Wolfwood continues to people-watch from where he’s hunkered in the basket, almost hoping that Meryl won’t follow through on that promise of a talk. But Wolfwood’s luck ran out long before this moment.

“First, I’m sorry.” Meryl spits out the words through gritted teeth, but they don’t sound dishonest. “I know I’ve been harsh on you. But Vash is… well, Vash. He loves freely, but he doesn’t let too many people in. He’ll get close to them , yet he doesn’t let others have that same luxury in return. It’s hard not to be protective when he’s like that, and it feels like you just burst right in.”

Wolfwood wants to spit out something in return, but really… He can’t say he wouldn’t be acting the same way and saying the same things in her position. He also knows he’s earned some wariness given his whole situation. It’s not like he even knows if being around Vash is a good thing for him—but he’s here and he’s staying.

A frown settles on her face. “Though you destroying his room was too much.”

Again, his instinct has him opening his mouth to bite back. But what would that do? He can feed his petty little rivalry—and even pettier jealousy, if he’s honest—but Vash doesn’t deserve that. So his tail lashes at the packets inside the basket as he bites his tongue. “It was. I know it was.”

She finally glances down at him then, clearly contemplating something. But eventually her eyes turn back on the street ahead. “At least you didn’t cause his hair to darken even more. If you had, I’d kick you out myself, familiar or not.”

“Wait, the hair thing?” Wolfwood turns fully toward her, blocking out all the distractions Octovern has to offer. “Do you know what happened? Because all I know is a spell went wrong, I stopped whatever was happening, and he woke up like that the next day.”

“It has to do with his curse, when he… activates it. I never thought I’d see him decay that much again outside of another Julai incident.”

“Wait, hold on. Decay ?” Wolfwood hisses, his ears flicking back.

“Yes. His soul dies off more and more as the curse wraps around him and the more he struggles. If he gave in and didn’t fight against it consuming his mind and breaking his soul, he’d technically save himself, but… You’ve seen what happens if he gives in. Or at least when he pushes so much that he’s forced to give in.” Meryl’s face loses a bit of its color.

A couple of puzzle pieces click together in Wolfwood’s head, but it’s far from satisfying. He might not have seen Julai personally, but if that whole deal has something to do with the curse? No wonder Milly is scrambling so much to help cure it. Not that saving Vash isn’t enough motivation, but destruction like that is on a whole other level.

“If he rots enough, it’ll consume him regardless. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.” Her eyes wander around again as she scowls. “What do you want with him? It’s hard to see most of the time, but you’re obviously not a cat, and you’re way too powerful to just be messing around and doing nothing.”

Wolfwood’s digs his claws into the basket. “Milly brought me there—I’m sure you know that much. I was wandering around in a stupid attempt to cure my curse, but that was all I set out to do. Milly found me and told me Vash was my best bet.”

That’s not the whole truth, but dropping the fact that it was Vash’s brother that cursed Wolfwood probably won’t help anyone. Besides, he doesn’t want to be the thread that connects the two brothers together—the way that the guy worded his curse still haunts him. Wolfwood can’t be the trail that leads him to Vash. He won’t .

“Anyway, I don’t know shit about magic—or I didn’t before I became Vash’s familiar, and he taught me some things about it. I know Milly made some comment about me having a kind of magic something too, but I think I’d notice if I had an affinity for magic.”

She snorts. “Really? You think I didn’t notice that carved bird when I was in Vash’s room?”

“What bird?” Wolfwood says slowly, even though he knows . But it can’t be. It can’t .

“The one you knocked down from the shelf above Vash’s bed—I know it must have been next to those flowers. You made that, and don’t try to lie to me.” She glares down at him before looking back up at the road. “It reeks of one of the sorts of magic tied up in your curse. Though I imagine you made it before you were stuck as a cat, or else that’s impressive.”

“It was— That’s where Vash put it?” Up with the flowers that were from his mother ? A memory that precious? Wolfwood really should have given him a better carving if he was going to care that much.

But why does Vash care?

“Does he even know you’re the human that gave it to him?” She arches an eyebrow down at him.

“I…” He could lie, but there’s no way he wouldn’t get caught. Besides, he doesn’t want to lie. He hates that he’s lied this much to Vash in general. Yeah, it’s a lie by omission, but Miss Melanie raised him better than this.

He crouches down a little, even knowing there’s no hiding from this. “I haven’t told him.”

Meryl lets out a long sigh. “Regardless, I clocked the connection instantly. The spell on the bird isn’t as strong as your current magic, but it’s certainly not weak. A little childish, though. Just basic safety from nightmares, right? I guess I can see how you would miss it. It seems like a spoken spell—a rare talent for humans to have. Not everyone can speak magic into things. I do hope that carving helps Vash. Milly says he used to have horrible dreams.”

So Milly really wasn’t making up Wolfwood’s magical potential or whatever. He has some power—maybe even in this form. It’s not that he’s doubted anything Milly’s said to him for a while, but it’s still hard to believe she wasn’t just mistaken. Though that would explain the popularity of the toys he made since he would talk to them so much. And also why Milly really wanted Wolfwood to come home with her to help Vash, but… This means that Vash also has to have noticed, right?

Why haven’t either of them told him what to do about all of this from the start? If he has magic, and if it’s powerful, shouldn’t he have been able to fix all of this? He could have come and gone in a blink if anyone would’ve just told him what was going on.

Though he pointedly ignores the twist in his gut at the idea of not having spent all this time with them in their home. 

“So if I can just talk magic into things, then could I just say Vash’s curse is broken, and it would be?” It sounds absurd to even say it aloud.

Meryl snorts. “Ancient magics aren’t that simple. If they were, you could talk your own curse off of you, too. And you know neither of them would have kept that from you.”

Yeah, even if Vash might have hidden the cure to his own curse for some reason, and if Milly somehow didn’t know, they wouldn’t have held the cure to Wolfwood’s curse hostage like that. Milly might have bargained for it, but he knows it’s because she cares about Vash.

Wolfwood lets out a sigh. Nothing’s ever simple, is it?

“So what do you get out of being Vash’s familiar?” Meryl’s voice cuts through his thoughts—apparently they aren’t done with the interrogation.

“Nothing.” Wolfwood does his best impression of a shrug. “At least, nothing I didn’t get already.”

“Then why?” A frown overtakes her face, a lilt to her voice that betrays her suspicion.

“Same reason you’re giving me the third degree.” Wolfwood’s ears flick back. “The guy won’t take care of himself, I don’t want him to work himself to death, and this is what I can do.”

Meryl actually stops walking then, staring down at him for a godsdamn uncomfortable amount of time. “Really? That’s why?”

Wolfwood snorts. “No, I did it for the snazzy collar I got out of it.”

Finally, a slow smile spreads across her face as she picks up her pace again. “Alright, alright. I believe you, I guess. I don’t get you, but I trust Milly.”

He rolls his eyes. “Got an interesting way of showing it.”

“I don’t like leaving fate in other people’s hands.” She purses her lips, adjusting the basket. “And Vash and Milly are tired. I want to help where I can—same as you, I guess. And you’ve gotta admit, you’re suspicious as hell.”

“I don’t know what I am at this point,” Wolfwood grumbles. He thought he was just a mildly talented toymaker who would be stuck in the same building and working for the same person until Chapel died, and by then he’d be too old to have much of a life left. So right now, while he may know he’s cursed, know he has magic, and know he’s Vash’s familiar, he’s got no idea how any of that defines him.

“That’s fair enough. You’re pretty young—well, for being an old cat.” She ignores his grumbling, continuing right along. “When I was your age, I think most of my soul was bound to a rock. Maybe a boulder? The details are a little hazy. But now I’m a whole city. You might not live as long, but you’ll still have time to walk your own path once we figure out everyone’s curses.”

She says it so confidently, like she’s got no doubts about it happening. Like anyone has any idea where to even start with this whole mess. As if— “Wait. A city ? Are you the spirit of Octovern?”

She grins down at him, a sharp thing. “Yep.”

At least that explains how she knows the queen. But how the hell does that even work? The more Wolfwood learns, the more questions he has, and he’s tired of it. Or maybe that’s just his old age talking, who knows.

“Speaking of, we’re at the shining jewel of my city.” She smirks a little, nodding ahead. “Take a look.”

Wolfwood finally swivels in the basket, belatedly realizing he’s missed at least half their journey.

Then he forgets all about that, because he sees it.

The palace.

They begin to climb the obscenely long staircase up to the building, and Wolfwood can only gawp at it. The structure itself is constructed with even more detail than anything on the streets below, the white stone gleaming in the sunlight, the pillars curved and molded into fantastic, twisting shapes. But the symbols woven into the details and illustrations here are real magical runes, not artistic interpretations like before, that Wolfwood can recognize from Vash’s work.

And they’re active.

Even though it’s the dead of winter, foliage wraps around the building in a brilliant bloom of a rainbow of colors. There are flowers even bigger than he is beside and entwined tiny blossoms that might be smaller than the pupil of his eye—it’s hard to tell. Especially because the air shimmers and warps around the whole palace, an entire rainbow plucked apart into lights that float in the air like a show. 

But it’s not just pretty lights and colors. There are vague, shimmering figures hiding amidst the greenery—and whether it’s instinct or Vash’s teachings rubbing off on him, something about them has Wolfwood pretty sure that they’re spirits. They lurk around the perimeter, watching, waiting, guarding.

“Quite a spell, isn’t it?” Meryl grins up at the lights overhead. “It keeps the whole city safe, but especially the palace. Vash helped design it a few decades ago, and I maintain it now. It can flare up and hide this whole structure from anyone even finding it if there’s a threat and we need to shelter the people—though there hasn’t been a need since the dragons are calmer nowadays.”

“It’s impressive,” Wolfwood admits gruffly, shrinking back as he keeps staring up.

This was probably set up before he was born. It makes him feel small and insignificant in a way that not even the whole cat thing inspired. They were just talking about how Wolfwood’s here to try and help with the whole curse situation, but when he’s already surrounded by spirits that can do stuff like this, what the fuck is he going to do?

But then Meryl reaches the top of the staircase, the guards dressed in ridiculously decorative and impractical armor open the doors, and they’re inside.

It’s, of course, just as flamboyant and impressive inside. The carpets look lush, and there are all sorts of art and statues and anything else historical and fancy lining everywhere. It smells nice, too. It’s a little like the clean smell of laundry with a floral undertone, something that feels more homey than fancy. Wolfwood’s head still spins as Meryl carts him through the halls and they pass what are probably a handful of nobles and a dozen guards—none of them paying Meryl and the black cat in the basket any mind aside from a brief greeting.

Finally, they come to a set of arched glass doors and wander into a courtyard filled with even more greenery. It’s hot and humid enough that Wolfwood’s fur starts to puff up immediately, and when he looks up, he finds a clear glass ceiling trapping it all in. And then there’s the growth itself, which makes Vash’s precious garden look almost like a patch of weeds.

When Wolfwood was younger, he would read stories to the little kids about jungles and all of the creatures that lurked inside them. This place is the closest thing he’s ever seen that matches his imagination of that landscape. Hell, it even looks a bit like the illustrations from those books. There are walls of living green littered with flowers that don’t even look like flowers outside of their colors. Vines curve and twirl in arches along the curling paths in a way that makes it feel like they’re surrounded by a large creature of sorts.

But then they turn a corner and find a smaller bed of blue flowers, surrounded by some bunches of white lilies, and a woman kneeling on the ground, tending them, with a man standing behind her.

Meryl comes to a stop not too far away, bowing her head. “Your majesty? I’ve brought the cat.”

Chapter Text

Wolfwood’s head swivels between Meryl and the other woman, trying to make the words “your majesty” click into place. As the lady stands up, he notes she’s a bit older than middle-aged with salt and pepper hair, dressed in worn, plain clothes and a dirty apron, and it all just feels weirder.

When he imagined meeting the queen, Wolfwood had in mind a huge hall, a grand throne, a delicate crown, and intricate clothes that would put the people on the street to shame. Not… this.

“Ah, Meryl!” The queen grins, and crow’s feet crinkle at the edges of her eyes. “Did you have a safe journey?”

“Yes, I did. Thank you for your concern.” Meryl keeps her eyes downcast, though she manages to avoid looking at Wolfwood. She’s a spirit, why is she so demure toward some human queen? If she started off as a rock before this city even existed, she must’ve seen every generation of royalty before this. Humanity shouldn’t mean anything to her.

“You know, if what you’ve said about him is true, you shouldn’t just call him ‘the cat.’” The queen’s tone is light, but her title begins to click into place with how she says those words. Even Wolfwood would be backpedaling with that tone.

Thankfully he can’t fuck up what he says this time—he can’t say anything. Not that she can understand, anyway. He knows for a fact that the royal lineage is made up of regular, mortal people who die when it’s their time. While this queen has been in power his whole life, he’s heard about her mother and her grandfather before her.

The weight of the queen’s tone even seems to hit Meryl, her eyes finally landing on Wolfwood as her shoulders rise up to her ears. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“You don’t have to stick to the formalities just because Brad’s here.” The queen sighs, waving at the glowering man behind her. “We aren’t exactly at court right now, Meryl dear.”

The guard might be a bit younger than the queen, a little less salt in his hair, but it’s a close thing. Instead of smile lines around his eyes, Brad’s wrinkles show in deep frown lines around his eyes. He stands completely still in an eerie way that reeks of concealed physical power. Unlike the ridiculous, opulent guards at the entrance, he’s dressed in plain clothes—but the large sword at his waist is no joke. Wolfwood’s still no expert at magic, but the way his whiskers tingle when he examines it means it’s got to have some powerful runes welded into it.

He wishes that Vash was here so he could ask about it, so that he could have that steady presence at his side. But all Wolfwood has is a niggling at the back of his mind, reminding him of his bond and that Vash is out there somewhere else.

“You’re the queen, and he’s the head of the guard.” Meryl shifts on her feet. “It may just be us, but it’s not something to take lightly.”

“And you’re a spirit older and more powerful than I can ever hope to be. We’ve had this discussion hundreds of times. But I know, I know. You’re stubborn. Spirits do tend to cling to their ways.” She smiles and it’s full of kindness, reaching her eyes with a similar warmth that Wolfwood looks for in Vash.

Meryl raises her head at that, returning the grin. “You know me too well. Even if you are exceptionally young, Luida.”

The queen laughs, her head tilting back. “You know flattery will get you nowhere with me! But I appreciate it. Now, why don’t you let our guest down before taking those spells to the witches.”

Meryl gapes. “You mean… Leave him? But you don’t know him! What if he tries to—”

“Kill me? Sabotage my rule?” The queen’s smile only grows. “He may not quite be a cat, as you say, but you’ve also told me he can’t switch forms, and we can’t even talk. What do you think he’ll do?”

Meryl and Wolfwood exchange a glance. To be fair, she doesn’t seem angry or afraid of him and what he might do. That anger and distrust seem to be shifting from the forefront of Meryl’s mind, slowly but surely. But the furrow in her brow reveals her worry. She’s already told him she’s overprotective, and it seems like she’s a friend of the queen, just like Vash is.

Wolfwood, on the other hand, tries his best to scream with his eyes to not let this happen . He thought he’d be meeting the queen with a whole entourage or something like that. He definitely assumed that Meryl wouldn’t be leaving him. What the fuck is he supposed to do alone with a queen ? Especially if she knows he’s not just a cat?

“Besides,” Queen Luida clasps her hands in front of her, meeting Wolfwood’s gaze. “Vash trusts him. And I trust Vash.”

Meryl’s shoulders fall at that, the wind taken right out of her sails. And Wolfwood knows for a fact it’s because she trusts Vash, too. If she didn’t, he’s pretty sure she would have just thrown Wolfwood into a gutter on the way here or something. But instead, she talked to him, apologized, and, hell, he’s even starting to like her a little.

Not a lot. But a little.

So Meryl kneels down, close enough to the ground that his old joints are fine with the jump, and after a deep breath, he takes the leap.

“Come back after you’re done to take him home, if you don’t mind?” The queen is even more foreboding now that she’s a giant standing over him. “I have a lunch meeting with a duchess, and unfortunately, I think she’s allergic to cats, so I won’t be able to bring him.”

And thank gods for that. He can’t imagine sitting there, trying to drink tea and eat cucumber sandwiches or whatever the hell royals eat, while they talk politics that go way beyond his scope.

“Of course.” Meryl bows her head, purposefully catching Wolfwood’s eye. “Just call me if you need me, alright?”

Wolfwood’s not sure if she means him, the other two, or everyone, but he gives a small nod regardless. It cuts him right through the chest that he has so many people he can call on at a moment’s notice for help, something raw, stinging, and uncomfortable. He hasn’t had that in… too long. It’s not that he couldn’t ask someone like Livio and he wouldn’t come, but Wolfwood has been so absent in his life. It would be too much to ask.

And now he’s somehow surrounded by people that give a damn. It doesn’t feel real. It shouldn’t be real.

“I’ll know where to find you.” Queen Luida gives a small smile as Meryl takes her leave, only giving one glance back before she turns the corner.

And then Wolfwood’s alone. With them .

“Nicholas is your name, isn’t it?”

It’s so weird to be addressed by someone like this. Wolfwood almost opens his mouth to correct her, say that he’s gone by Wolfwood since he left the orphanage, but… He’s more Nicholas now than ever, isn’t he?

With Chapel being the only one who used that name for years, Wolfwood had grown to hate it. Now sometimes Milly calls him by that name, but he hears Vash’s voice more often than anyone else’s, and he always calls him Nicholas or Nico.

He’s kind of fond of it now.

And he’s not sure how he feels about that.

Though it certainly doesn’t matter now because he can’t correct her. There’s no way in hell she can understand a rasping meow. So he gives a slow nod of his head, exaggerating his movements so she knows it’s on purpose.

“I’m so sorry to take away your means of talking by sending Meryl away, but I think it’s easier to talk person to person without spirits around sometimes. They’re brilliant, but in their long lives, sometimes their priorities and views make it harder to have grounded conversations. Especially with how fierce Meryl is.” Queen Luida glances over her shoulder. “Don’t you agree, Brad?”

The man grunts, his eyes not leaving Wolfwood.

Which he gets. Protecting the queen is a serious job. But he’s never going to get over being treated as a legitimate threat while being an old man of a cat—Vash is gonna have a good laugh about this one.

The queen turns back to Wolfwood, giving a knowing little grin like she thinks it’s ridiculous, too. “Would you mind if I continue gardening while we talk?”

He blinks, then shakes his head. It’s better if her focus isn’t on him, honestly.

She takes her time kneeling down and waves away Brad’s offered hand even though she moves like her joints feel like Wolfwood’s do. “I’m sure you’re aware of how much Vash means to us all here. I’ve known him for as long as I can remember, and quite frankly, I don’t know what is legend from history anymore. He would have you believe none of the stories at all, instead tell you that he’s just a witch who plays his role as best he can. And he’s certainly let the rumors circulate that he’s a monster without trying to check them. Before he left, he even told me not to contradict them. But I know better. And I imagine you do too, don’t you?”

She glances at Wolfwood, giving him enough time to nod vigorously before she goes back to her work.

Of course the idiot found some stupid reason to let himself be known as a monster. Vash can’t stop Wolfwood, though. If he ever gets his human voice back, he won’t shut up about it.

“I want to tell you, as one mortal to another, who Vash the Stampede is.” Her voice is steady but soft, as if confiding some big secret. “And I want to implore you to cure him of his curse, since the spirits have placed their faith in you to help.”

Maybe Wolfwood was grateful not to have the ability to talk to the queen before, but now he wants the words to contradict her. Even Meryl just told him there’s no way for him to cure Vash with whatever weird magic he has. But he can’t say anything, he can’t crush that false hope, so he stays quiet.

“Vash and his brother first came here during my great-great-grandmother’s time. We never knew much of his brother, Nai, as he spent all his time with the spirits. Vash, in turn, spent his time with the humans.

“He will never tell you this, but Vash is the reason this nation exists as peacefully as it does. We were separate towns and cities and villages, all of us fighting each other and the spirits until Vash helped negotiate peace. I may rule, but each of my peoples are still their own culture, and he helped create an environment where conflict serves no one. He created the spell network that supports us all. Those packets he works so hard on help things grow, encourage safety and thoughtfulness, and are impossible for any other spirit or mortal to create despite our best efforts. He is the savior of this country. But most importantly, he is my friend. That means more than anything else to me, and I think it means something to him, too. I even hear he still wears that coat I got for him.”A smile spreads across her face, so fond and aching that there’s no chance her words aren’t true. 

Then a steeliness spreads across her face. “His brother had enough of our peace a few years back. None of us know what happened exactly, but the way Vash reacted afterward and the fear in his eyes said enough. It was fear of himself, yes, but it was fear of his brother, too.

“I had met Nai a couple times, before everything went wrong.” Queen Luida tears up weeds with a passion that doesn’t exactly fit her status, but Wolfwood appreciates regardless. “They loved each other, but Nai has always been dismissive toward anything that wasn’t a spirit and could die of natural means—especially humans. Apparently, Vash had gotten too close to humanity for his taste, so he destroyed as much of it as he could with Vash’s own power and then cursed him to keep as far away from those he loved as possible. He cannot be around mortals. I don’t know the details, but that much seems to be true.”

She glances towards Wolfwood just in time to see him sneer, ears back, tail flicking, and teeth bared before he can hide it.

“The spirits haven’t told you even that much, have they? All of them are more afraid than they’ve been in a while—if ever. They aren’t used to the same level of conflict that comes from being human and burning so fast and so brightly.”

Queen Luida sighs. “Vash loves humanity and mortals more than anything else, but he’s been cursed into isolation by his own brother. Whatever love was once there is fractured. Nai is nowhere to be found. Presumably, he’s been left to recover from his own injuries while hunting Vash. I didn’t see Nai in the aftermath, but I know neither brother got out unscathed.”

Then that alleyway, where he and Vash first met… That would be why he was crying, absolutely. Vash had a hand in the whole Julai thing—though Wolfwood would bet his collar on the entire situation being this brother, this Nai’s fault—and he couldn’t even get close to anyone. And knowing that idiot, he was there to try and help them grieve or comfort people or some bullshit.

It had been two years at that point. It has to have been killing Vash. It’s not hard to see how frustrating and distressing it is for Vash to not be able to complete those little spell packets that keep those he cares about safe. And that on top of having destroyed a city?

If he ever sees that brother again, Wolfwood’s biting him.

Not to mention, if Vash coming to December wasn’t a great idea… Well, Milly had said that the curse caught up to him recently, right? Shit, was it Wolfwood’s fault to begin with that Vash’s curse is so tightly tied around his throat? Wolfwood had given him that carved bird, and Vash gave him that flower. 

Then again, even the queen doesn’t know the details. Wolfwood can pretend that’s not the case, even if the rock of guilt sinking in his gut tells him otherwise.

“We’re running out of time.” Queen Luida stops her gardening, turning her full attention to Wolfwood. “I’m not sure what exactly inspired that group to bring you into this or why you’re staying, but Meryl has reported that Vash is getting worse. I’ve researched all thatI can, I’ve had the royal witches look into cures and even just options that may help ease aspects of it. But what we could find was far too simple for something so complex. The only cure-alls I’ve seen written down are things like true love, and even then, the instructions are too vague and it reads more like a legend than a fact. We know as little about complex curses like this as I know about Vash’s past.”

She shakes her head, taking a deep breath. “If I thought it would help if you left him, I would encourage it. But I don’t think he can handle any more loss. There’s a reason you’re involved, and there’s a reason that they all trust you despite their fear. And yes, Meryl does trust you—I doubt you would be alive still if she thought you were too much of a threat.”

Well, at least Wolfwood was able to clock that about Meryl. He doesn’t get the feeling that murder is exactly second nature to her, but if someone was threatening her friend… Yeah, he can see it.

Queen Luida stretches out a hand, giving Wolfwood a tentative pat on his head. “As one mortal to another, please help him. Not so he can do more work for the kingdom, not even so that I can see him again. If he chose to disappear, I would respect that—I have respected it. But I ask because I want him to be well, and he deserves that much, at least.”

Wolfwood wants to scream, to tear his own fur out. He can’t do that because he’s worthless and helpless and has no way to help anyone. He’s a cat. And even as a person, what was he good for? What do these people expect from a man like him ?

But he can’t say that.

And… a part of him doesn’t want that to be true. A part of him wants so badly to keep trying, to find something, to be the one who can help Vash. He knows better, but he also knows that no matter how hard he tries, that spark of hope won’t fucking go out.

So, with a deep breath, he gives a short, stiff nod. At the very least, he’ll do his damnedest.

“Thank you. I know we haven’t been able to properly chat and I can only ramble at you, but I think I see why they all like you so much.” She smiles at him again, and he begins to understand why she has those laugh lines. 

Even with all the stress she has to be under running a whole kingdom, even if she’s worried about a friend, she still manages to give earnest smiles and inspire happiness. Wolfwood thinks he wouldn’t mind meeting her as a human someday.

Another goal to work toward, he guesses.

He just hopes that he can avoid his fate as an eternal fuck up and somehow live up to everyone’s hopes and dreams for once.

Chapter Text

Wolfwood finds himself sitting in some absolutely ludicrous sitting room loaded with useless, fancy crap, being watched over by two guards. Whether they’re protecting him from the castle or the castle from him is anyone’s guess—but given the conversation he just had with the queen, he doubts the latter. Well rather the conversation she had with him .

Either way, it’s ridiculous.

The gaudiness of the decorations in the palace seems even more absurd after talking to Queen Luida. The latter half of their conversation was spent in the dirt as she explained what plants she was taking care of and the intricacies of gardening. Brad even piped up from time to time, and Wolfwood somehow learned that apparently lilies are his favorite flower. The passion that Luida has for the greenery too eerily similar to the joy that blooms on Vash’s face when he explains the plants he’s collecting and the array of things in his garden, and Wolfwood can’t help but wonder if she learned it from him or him from her.

It makes something in Wolfwood’s chest ache, makes him want to scratch through that hint of a connection at the back of his mind until he breaks through and he’s back with Vash.

At least his stupid jealousy isn’t biting him in the ass this time. Maybe it’s because Luida’s the queen and feels unobtainable as it is—and, honestly, he doesn’t even know if she’s married . It’s not like he ever got out to get the news as an adult, and he didn’t care as a kid.

It’s ridiculous, anyway. He’s Vash’s familiar. They have a promise to each other, and that’s that. If Vash wants to skip off chasing skirts when all of this is done, it’s fine. It’s fine . Even if his claws are out and he’s gritting his teeth, it’s—

One of the guards collapses.

Both Wolfwood and the other guard just stare at the fallen figure for a moment. Maybe the guy didn’t get enough to drink? The armor worn by these guys further inside the palace is plainer and more practical than the obviously showy stuff he saw the others wearing earlier—but it still looks hot and heavy. Wolfwood may not know much about that whole armor thing in general, but he has seen people pass out from the heat before.

The remaining guard shakes himself out of it, stepping forward to help his comrade.

And he falls over, too.

Wolfwood slowly rises from where he’s perched on a way too soft chair, his fur standing on end. This isn’t normal. To put it mildly .

He hops down and treads carefully over, sniffing at the guards—not that it helps him figure out what’s wrong. But he watches and inspects them for another moment before he notices at least one thing:

They’re not breathing.

He scrambles away from the fucking corpses until he hits the leg of a small table, knocking it over and scrambling to keep his balance. They’re dead. They’re fucking dead . They were alive, and now they aren’t. How does that even happen? Did Wolfwood play some part in this?

He opens his mouth, about to scream for Meryl, or Milly, or maybe even Vash, though he knows better—

A soft, steady noise reaches his ears.

Footsteps.

He wants to crawl under the chair he just hopped off of, but he stands his ground. Either it’s another guard, or someone’s come to check on him, or it’s… someone else. And if it’s the latter, he’s not dragging anyone he cares about into whatever’s going on.

He tenses more and more with every gentle tap until the door glides open, and there stands the last person he expected and the last person he wanted to see.

“You still reek of my brother’s magic. If not even worse .” Nai sneers down at Wolfwood, icy eyes narrowed. He’s wearing the same suit and coat as before—who knows if he even owns another outfit—and now that Wolfwood’s seen both him and Vash properly, they’re nothing alike.

In the shape of their face and their build, maybe. But how Nai holds his pompous-ass posture isn’t anything like the actual strength and softness that Vash holds when he moves. The shade of their skin, their hair, and their eyes are distinctly different. And the expression on Nai’s face isn’t anything that Wolfwood could even imagine stretched across Vash’s features. Nai’s beauty mark may mirror Vash’s, but that’s where all their similarities end.

One thing’s for sure, though. Fuck this guy.

A growl erupts from Wolfwood’s throat as he launches himself across the room as best as his old bones allow, digging his claws and his fangs through Nai’s obnoxious pants and tearing as best he can.

Nai doesn’t move a hand, but Wolfwood’s launched back. His spine hits the wall and there’s a soft crack before he collapses, wheezing.

Wolfwood hadn’t really thought that would end well, but considering the fire and anger in that prick’s wide, pale blue eyes, it was worth it. 

Because while Wolfwood may be stupid, he’s not that stupid. He hasn’t fulfilled this bastard’s stupid goals, and he doesn’t expect to survive this. He won’t be handing over Vash, and that will have consequences. But he got this asshole’s blood on the fangs that this idiot’s curse gave him, and that’s satisfaction enough.

“You insolent little—” Nai’s hand flicks and Wolfwood slams into the wall again, pinned there now. “You think you have any right to lay a hand on me?”

Wolfwood tries to breathe, but his lungs are under enough pressure that they strain and sting. “You’re not above getting bit by a stray you created.”

Nai scoffs. “I sent you on a mission to give me my most precious, closest brother who has lost his way, and you disappeared from my radar entirely for an extended length of time. Imagine my surprise when you manage to show up at the palace, of all places.”

Shit. Vash helped design the magic that protects and can shield the palace, so it makes sense that his own house is shielded—even from his brother. Especially from his brother. It’s a good thing Wolfwood was only ever magicked to and from the tree, or else maybe Nai would have an idea where he went—though who knows, Wolfwood doesn’t understand shit as advanced as this. He’s just thankful that he never betrayed Vash by leading his sick brother to his home. Even now, Nai could torture Wolfwood, and he would give no answers.

The one thing Wolfwood wishes he could do is call one of the spirits he knows will listen and tell them to absolutely not come here. And maybe apologize, while he can. Fuck, he’s the reason two people are dead. Nai wouldn’t have shown up if Wolfwood hadn’t come here.

“What are you even doing here, hm?” Nai takes a step toward Wolfwood, probably just to get a better angle to glare down his nose at him. “What does this have to do with my brother?”

“It has nothing —”

“Do not lie to me.” Nai twists his hand and the pressure increases for a moment, Wolfwood’s heart struggling to find a consistent rhythm in his chest. 

The pressure eases, and Wolfwood gasps in a breath. “The queen wanted to see me. We talked about Vash. That’s the only thing related to him, you fucking creep.”

Nai hums, tapping a finger from his free hand on his lip. “Well, I suppose it’s a good thing I’m visiting her next if she cares to be so involved with things that don’t concern her. What did she have to say? Did she want to use and abuse my brother more than she already has?”

Wolfwood can’t exactly say he’s the best judge of character, since it’s not like he has any people skills. But he has no reason to doubt what Queen Luida said to him. Even when Meryl visited the first time, she tried to get Vash to quit his bullshit about needing to complete all the spell packets and take care of himself.

There’s only one person that Wolfwood’s ever seen treat Vash like trash, and he’s looking at him.

“She wanted someone to take care of him since you’re such a piece of shit, and he’s suffering because of you. She even said that you guys love each other, you know that? What a load of crap. I’ve had siblings in everything in blood, and they would never —” The pressure increases again, if not as bad, but Wolfwood’s words still wheeze off.

“You really just don’t know when to shut up, don’t you?” Nai shakes his head. “She can say all that she wants, but she could never understand us or what my brother means to me. She deserves what I will take from her, and then some. They treat Vash like some average human when they should worship him like the god that he is among them.”

Vash would never want that. It’s not like Wolfwood’s ever had a conversation about it with him, but the things that make him smile, the things he values in his friends—it’s not like that. He doesn’t want to be like who Chapel was, or whatever the hell this asshole’s trying to be. Showing him a little kindness means more to the guy than any amount of worship.

Wolfwood manages to take in a shaking breath. “If you think he’d ever want or agree to that, you don’t know him at all.”

“And what, you do?” Nai laughs, and Wolfwood’s both relieved and disappointed he didn’t strike enough of a nerve to get more of a reaction. “You’ve been alive for, what? Maybe a few decades? Even if you knew him from the second you were born, you’d only know him for a fraction of the time we’ve been alive together. It’s insignificant at best, just like the rest of your pathetic life.”

It’s not that the guy is wrong about the timeframe or that there isn’t so much more that Wolfwood doesn’t know about Vash. But one thing Wolfwood absolutely does know is that Vash deserves better than these vicious assumptions. How can you live alongside someone that long and not know them at all?

“It doesn’t matter.” Nai waves his free hand. “All of you will be dead sooner rather than later. There’s no need for mortals in this world, especially humans—they only take advantage of and drain the spirits around them. Vash’s own body is a prime example of the atrocities humanity commits.”

Wolfwood’s seen Vash’s scars, sure. He knows Vash has a missing limb. And maybe some or all of that was done by humankind, and if Wolfwood meets those people, he’ll bite and scratch their eyes out. But the only thing he’s seen truly haunt Vash is Julai. And Wolfwood knows exactly who’s behind that.

But, obviously, this guy’s a dick that won’t listen to reason. Wolfwood’s not exactly looking forward to becoming a cat pancake, but he’s not sure what else he can do. There’s magic all over this palace, it’s a miracle Nai even got in. If only Wolfwood could buy the time to think of something, activate some alarm or warn someone… “What, you’re just going to wipe out every sentient creature on this planet?”

“Yes.” He says the word so cold, his tone so flat, it sends a chill up Wolfwood’s spine.

“That’s impossible.” Wolfwood’s lungs are having more and more trouble filling with air, and the room goes dark around the edges. He just needs something, anything, to get Nai caught. 

“Once I have Vash, it won’t be.” He shrugs, like it really is that simple. “I’m sure you know of that insignificant city that we obliterated. That was simply a test. After he comes back to me and we use his power, I’ll make it all a much cleaner genocide. Your race should thank me for that kindness. At least then your spirits won’t be stuck in those worthless meat sacks any longer.”

“Fuck off,” Wolfwood spits, struggling at the invisible pressure holding him down and finding no give.

Nai laughs, and it’s uncomfortable how it rings just enough like his brother’s that Wolfwood can’t help but connect the dots. But there’s no humor in the sound, nothing welcoming or warm. Even when the sound is forced, Vash cares far too much about those around him and it bleeds through into everything he does.

“You know all these facts, you’ve seen what I’m capable of, and you still want to pick a fight with me? I could kill you right now.”

“But you haven’t.” And the longer it goes on, the more Wolfwood almost wishes Nai would just do it—but he doesn’t want to die. Not like this. In his quiet moments, when his joints are aching, and the cricks in his back won’t work themself out, he imagines just falling asleep beside Vash and not waking up, and sometimes he thinks that might be enough.

But not like this.

“No.” Nai’s lips draw back into a facsimile of a smile. “ You will lead me to him before he drains himself completely, fool that he is. Because you will tell me where my brother is. The longer I stay here, the more you reek of him. And don’t think I haven’t noticed that collar on you—at least he took one mortal to use like he should. How did you get close to him without activating the curse?”

There’s a moment where Wolfwood sees red at just the implication that Vash would ever take advantage of him and the face Vash’d make if he heard that. Then Wolfwood yowls , “I already am cursed, asshole.”

“Not that part of your curse.” Nai waves his hand casually, brushing away Wolfwood’s words. “Either his curse reaching completion or the trap in your own curse. I should have him by now. Wherever you went is hidden from me, and it shouldn’t be with your curse. You are a beacon of magic to me, and I couldn’t sense you. Why?”

“You will never get him through me.” Gods, if Wolfwood could just get free, tear this man’s skin to shreds .

“I could kill you instead.” Nai tilts his head, his words less of a threat this time and more an earnest consideration.

“Good. Do it.” Wolfwood pants, and he can feel the wildness in his eyes. His heart beats ferociously in his chest, but the venom in him wins over his fear. “Then you’ll never have a way to him.”

Nai raises an eyebrow before he snorts. “Fine, it doesn’t matter. I can feel his safeguards unraveling. As disgusting as you are, at the very least you’re setting my brother on the right path. He’s always insisted on hanging around vermin like yourself, and I’ve made you all a disease to him. He’s as stupid as the mortals are if he thinks connections with them could help rather than hurt. He knows his curse. I was clear on the rules and boundaries. Though how he could form a bond without breaking under the weight…”

For a second, Nai stares at Wolfwood. Then he shrugs. “I would thank you for hurrying his curse along, but it’s the least a mongrel like you can do. I suppose I best make the most of my time in the palace and pay a visit to the queen now, don’t you think?”

No. 

No .

Wolfwood’s not as powerless as Nai thinks he is, like he used to be. Everyone keeps telling Wolfwood he has some ridiculous magic. What good is he if he doesn’t use it? He might not be able to cure his or Vash’s curse with his own power, but it’s time to test this bullshit.

“You won’t do shit when you get caught first.” Wolfwood spits as much meaning and power as he can into his words. He’s not sure how it works, but Meryl said his magic is in his words. It has to work. He can feel every single syllable like a knife in his throat, coming from somewhere far deeper than his lungs. “The guards are coming for you. The spells are activating right now. I saw the protection spells that are around this place, and I know your own brother set them up. They’re going to catch you because Vash wants them to, because he doesn’t want you . It’s activated, and they’re coming for you .”

Nai’s eyes widen. “Why you little—”

The air in the room shifts. It grows denser, heavier, and takes on a blue tinge before shifting to green and then to a vibrant red that consumes all the colors in the room.

And just as quickly as he appeared, Nai is gone.

Wolfwood collapses to the ground, gasping in ragged breaths as his vision darkens. Well, that sure did something. He feels like someone unplugged a drain in him and all of his energy has evaporated. And it doesn’t matter, because Nai isn’t here. Wolfwood can only hope the bastard isn’t somewhere else in the castle. He’s distantly aware that he shouldn’t sleep, he can’t sleep. He needs to help the others. He needs to warn someone. He needs to not be useless.

But he’s so tired. Just the thought of moving a leg feels so far away and out of reach that he doesn’t even know if he can.

“Wolfwood! Nicholas !”

His eyes focus to find that short lady’s face right in front of his own. Her cheeks look wet. Why the fuck would she be crying? Did she know those dead guards?

“There you are! I couldn’t get to you, like there was a wall or something— Never mind. Are you alright?” Her words come out so fast that it takes Wolfwood a moment to parse them as the world spins.

“It was Nai. He was here.” He struggles to keep his eyes open, to even get another breath into sore lungs. “Wanted to get to… Luida next.”

The world goes black, and Wolfwood goes numb.

Chapter Text

When Wolfwood wakes up, he’s no longer in the palace. He’s lying somewhere soft and warm, and he can hear the wind whistling softly through the branches of a tree. Milly’s tree. He’s home.

Fuck . He can’t be here, not if it leads to Nai finding Vash. Every muscle in his body aches and drawing breath hurts, but he still moves, tries to shift his paws underneath himself—

A warm weight settles over him, holding him down.

“You aren’t going anywhere, Mr. Cat.”

Wolfwood squirms wildly, and he might scratch Milly in the process, but it doesn’t matter. He cannot be here. “Vash’s brother, Nai— He’s going to come. He’s the one who put the curse on me, he sent me to find Vash, and—”

“And he never came here over your long stay with us, and you never even tried to report back to him.” Milly smiles gently at him, knocking the wind out of his sails. “What, you think I wouldn’t recognize that idiot’s particular brand of magic? It’s mixed in well with your own, so it’s a lot harder to parse out than a normal curse would be. But I know. I’ve known for a long time.”

Wolfwood pants as he goes limp beneath the hand pinning him down. Gods, he just woke up but he’s so tired. “Why the hell would you keep me around if you knew that?”

“Mr. Vash’s spells are designed specifically to keep his brother away. And mortals in general since that would be a bad mix right now, but they aren’t too hard to bamboozle. Even if you tried to summon Vash’s brother, you’d have to get pretty far from the house to get ahold of him, and he couldn’t follow you here unless you shattered Vash’s defenses. Which would be hard for anyone to do, considering Nai hasn’t broken them.” She shrugs, like it’s that simple. “You didn’t try to bring him here, so!”

“That… That’s too much of a risk.” Wolfwood squeezes his eyes shut, taking a few shaking breaths. “He’s already hurt Vash enough, it’s not worth the chance. I’m not…”

“I’ll have you know that Mr. Vash would be very upset if you said that to him. He was so happy when Meryl showed up with you at our doorstep. She knew it would have been a mistake to leave you at the palace, especially considering Vash knew the instant the security spells there activated. His magic may not be behind those spells anymore, but he’s too nosey for his own good. And he would have come to get you.”

Wolfwood cracks an eye open to find her smiling down at him with far more fondness than he deserves.

“If you want to leave, you’re free to go. But it would hurt Vash very much. He hasn’t had company in so long, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him attach himself to someone else so fast—even if he tried to resist for a while!”

“I don’t deserve it,” Wolfwood grumbles, even though he knows he won’t leave. A part of him can’t stand to hurt Vash, yeah, but the other part can’t bear the thought of leaving. Another piece of it might be how Nai would find him in an instant if he left and would probably flay him just as fast, sure, but he also doesn’t want to be away from this place. Even if there was no threat, he would have a hard time walking away.

Wolfwood heaves out a sigh. “I’ve only made his curse worse.”

“If he cared about you advancing his curse, he would have kicked you out no matter what I said. Sure, being close to a mortal sped it up, and yes, casting that spell to make you talk certainly didn’t help. But it would have gotten worse eventually, anyway.” Milly shrugs. “He has many friends he could have sent you to instead of housing you here, but he chose to let you stay.”

So Wolfwood did harm Vash. Fuck . “Why didn’t you tell me? That me being here would hurt him?”

“Because I knew you would leave eventually if you knew. You may put on a tough guy act, but you aren’t subtle in how much you care about others.”

“Then why did you insist on me staying?” Wolfwood struggles again against her, though he keeps his claws as sheathed as he possibly can this time. “Why did he let me? You knew I would hurt him! You both knew !”

“You have a unique magic, Wolfwood.” She reaches out with her free hand to gently tap his nose, stilling him. “It’s like nothing that either Vash or I could work as spirits. We can use words of power, we can tap into the energies of the world, but we can’t speak life into things and their spirits—that’s part of why I had brought up you being his familiar, you know. It was largely a joke, maybe a dream, and it could have gone either way—but we’re both sure by now that you extended his lifespan with that. I figured you’d either find a way to help, or at least he wouldn’t be alone. It may have sped things up in some ways, but he of all people doesn’t deserve to die in isolation.”

Wolfwood pants, clenching his jaw shut. He knew he was old and he would die, but this is the first time anyone’s mentioned death for Vash because of his curse. It’s not fair . “But Meryl told me I can’t just speak away a curse like Vash’s.”

She shakes her head. “No, not one as complex as that.” 

“So what?” Wolfwood growls. “We’re just waiting for him to lose control and let the curse take hold again? Let it wear him down and eat him alive? We’re going to let this thing win ?”

“No.” Her eyes are steel as she stares Wolfwood down. “I keep pulling at the threads I can see, and you do the same. Spend time with him and learn. You just showed that you absolutely can use magic today, so we’ll do what we can. Deal?”

“It doesn’t sound like much of a plan.” If anything, that makes him want to run. The fear of not knowing what’s coming next sends him under a dark wave, and he’s not sure how to surface.

“It will have to be enough.”

For the first time maybe ever in his life, Wolfwood feels completely hopeless to a whole new depth and degree he didn’t know was possible. He’s known what it’s like to not have hope in his life, past, present, or future. But he’s never known what it was like to live comfortably and happily and know that he’s going to lose it.

He lets out a shaky breath. “Is Queen Luida okay? Nai said he wanted to kill her, and I…”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Cat. You saved the day!” She removes the vice grip of her hand and begins petting his head, much to his chagrin. Guess he’s not a flight risk anymore.

Honestly, from anyone else, Wolfwood would call sarcasm and bite them for saying something like that. But he knows Milly would never mock him, not unless she was pissed the hell off and she’d make sure he knew . He hasn’t been on the receiving end of her ire yet, and he never wants to be. 

“I didn’t do shit.” Wolfwood’s ear twitches. “If anything, I made it all worse. I’m the one who drew that bastard to the palace, apparently.”

“I think you know what you did and what you actually have control over.” Maybe, but she doesn’t have to sound so smug about it. “If Nai had decided to just kill the queen to get Vash’s attention on his own, without you luring him out, and you weren’t there? He would have killed everyone from a distance and walked right out. But you activated the protection array, and he had to flee before he got caught. I’m sure you knew that, though.”

Wolfwood grumbles a bit. “All I could do was yell at him and hope for the best.”

“And it worked!” Her grin is so wide and earnest that it makes him cower. “I know you’re dead set on being negative about all of this, but you are a powerful magic worker even though you’ve never been trained as a witch. Who knows how many people you’ve helped throughout your life and you don’t even know it.”

“You’re being way too positive about this.” Wolfwood shifts a little, and finally breaks out of his panic enough to realize he’s on the couch. It’s dark outside, so he must’ve been out for a while. It’s strange waking up here at this time of day—he’s normally with Vash in bed right now.

Milly laughs. “Sorry to ruin your bad mood, Mr. Cat! But we’re all grateful for you and happy you’re okay. Nothing for any of us has to change much, if at all—though it might be smart not to wander too far out of the house.”

Wolfwood shivers. Yeah, no, he would rather die of old age first than wander beyond the paths in the woods that Vash has shown him. If they want him gone, he’ll leave, but he’s in no rush to meet Nai again. “Are you really sure you don’t want me to leave? You brought me here to help Vash, but… Hell, I haven’t done anything, and he doesn’t know half of the shit I’ve hidden from him. It’s wrong to stay here, isn’t it?”

She lets out a long-suffering sigh. “You really don’t believe we won’t change our minds, huh? Your secrets —if you want to call having a past you haven’t talked about a secret—don’t matter. Let me go wake up Vash and prove it to you. I promised I’d wake him if you got up, and I should sleep anyway.”

Just as he tries to protest, she’s gone.

Fuck . Vash needs all the sleep he can get. Guilt gnaws deep into Wolfwood’s chest, cold and consuming. 

A long moment of silence stretches, and Wolfwood cycles wildly between deciding he’s going to find a way to walk out of the door even if he doesn’t want to and just giving in and going up to bed with Vash because he’s still aching and exhausted—then there’s a loud thump. Followed by a set of softer, rapid thumps as Vash barrels down the stairs at a speed that cannot be safe before he skids across the rug, falls to his knees, and buries his face in Wolfwood’s fur with both his arms wrapped gentle but firm around him.

“I am so sorry .” Vash’s voice may be muffled by fur, but the way it wobbles and breaks is clear enough to cut through Wolfwood’s chest.

“What are you sorry about?” Wolfwood grumbles. “I’m the one who got fucked up and then fucked everything else up.”

Vash pulls back, cheeks ruddy and wet but glaring at Wolfwood with enough force that he shrinks back a bit. “You went to visit the queen and my brother came after you. How is that your fault?”

Wolfwood almost opens his mouth to spill everything and tell Vash about all of it. He’s sure that if Vash had been well enough, he would have clocked who Wolfwood was the instant they met that second time—if he remembered that encounter when Wolfwood was human—and sensed his brother’s magic all over him like Milly had. But the hole is too deep now, and he can’t handle that heartbreak on Vash’s face. Especially when he’s already made him cry.

“You can’t own your brother’s actions,” is all Wolfwood manages to choke out, shame settling heavily in his gut.

“And neither can you .” Vash grabs hold of Wolfwood’s face between his palms, squishing his cheeks. “He will do anything to get to me, and I should have seen this coming. Your soul and mine are linked, and if he wasn’t pissed enough before, he’s probably livid now. Of course he would come for you.”

Wolfwood flinches. That isn’t the only reason he came, though. “Then if I’m an opening, something he’ll use to get to you, I should go. I—”

“Do you think he’d let you live if you left and he found you without my magic with you?” Vash laughs with no humor, an edge lurking just beneath the surface—still less cutting than his brother’s, though. “The only reason he let you live as long as you did is because he thought you could lead him to me. I’m sure he even told you as much with how cocky he can be. He’s many things, but he’s not subtle.”

Wolfwood opens his mouth… and then shuts it. What Vash said is the truth. It’s the one godsdamn thing that’s the truth, the thing that he needed to tell Vash the most, and he’s not even the one that said it. It’s not the whole truth, either—but it’s all he can bear being out in the open. “I don’t want to be a way for him to get to you. I’d rather die.”

Vash presses against Wolfwood’s cheeks harder, making it difficult for him to see—but even then, he can’t escape the spark of rage in Vash’s eye. “You think I didn’t know the risks? You think I couldn’t have said no to you? You think that I’m that foolish? Don’t you call me weak. Don’t you dare be like him.”

“You’re the strongest person I know.” Wolfwood’s voice comes out ragged, far too raw. But Vash deserves what honesty his cowardice can manage. “But I’ve already told you: I don’t want to be how you get hurt.”

Vash finally relents, pulling his hands back and burying his face in Wolfwood’s side again. “Some things are worth getting hurt for. And I’ve made myself as safe as I can be. He can’t reach either you or me here because he has no power in this space. And he won’t as long as I’m alive and my spells remain unbroken.”

Wolfwood swallows. “And how long do you have left? With your curse.”

Vash goes quiet. Wolfwood might have pushed too far with that—Vash has never even hinted at his own curse. But every single person around him has talked about it. If it’s supposed to be a secret, he’s doing a shitty job at keeping it.

Besides, if Wolfwood even considers staying here, he needs answers and he needs to do something. He wants to pretend he’s leaving or that he’s going to spill and confess everything he’s ever said or done that’s wrong. That he can flay himself open, show Vash who he really is, and get eviscerated for everything he lacks.

But it’s hard not to take comfort in Vash when he speaks like this. It’s hard not to believe Milly when she says it’ll be okay.

And Wolfwood did fuck up. Two people are dead because he went to the palace.

It is true that he managed to activate the protection spell, though. And Vash is teaching him about magic and how it works. He probably won’t be able to do anything about this situation even with those newfound tools; powerlessness is an old friend that he knows too well to doubt.

That “what if” won’t stop ringing around his head, though.

“I’m not sure how long I have,” Vash finally murmurs, so quiet it almost doesn’t snap Wolfwood out of his thoughts. “But I intend to make the most of it. And I would be grateful if you stayed by my side for as long as it’s safe. I’ll find a way to keep Milly and you safe. I already have precautions in place for the both of you, and I hope they work.”

But not himself. And that, if anything, is the final straw for Wolfwood. 

“Not if I keep you safe first.”

Vash snorts out a laugh, tilting his head to look at Wolfwood with one eye, skin crinkled with unmistakable happiness as he gently runs his fingers through Wolfwood’s fur. It’s always different when Vash touches him. Milly pets him exactly like she’s scritching a cat, and he will never ever speak about the one time she got his leg shaking ever again. But Vash is so gentle and careful, almost like he’s brushing his hand through human hair.

Wolfwood can’t help but lean into the touch, everything about him still so heavy and tired.

“Let’s go to bed, yeah?” Vash’s voice is so quiet and gentle Wolfwood almost drifts off to it. “When you activated the spells around the palace, you used up far too much of your soul’s reserves. I should have taught you how to manage the drain of your magic—we’ll start tomorrow.”

Wolfwood should argue. He should say he’s leaving, he should ask to break their bond, give Nai the middle finger, and go out in a blaze of glory.

But he can’t even consider it. Not with Vash’s hands in his fur and his eyes so wide and hopeful. Not when Wolfwood and Milly are the only ones close enough to break this spell. Especially not after learning that maybe there are some things he can do in this stupid body.

All he can do is muster the energy to open his eyes and murmur, “Okay.”

And the way Vash smiles at him makes it worth it. It makes him even more determined to fight.

Chapter Text

Vash does keep his promise to teach Wolfwood more about magic. There was a part of Wolfwood that was sure Vash would avoid it to keep him safe or some other stupid reason Wolfwood can’t even come up with, but that’s not the case.

Turns out that studying magic is kind of boring, though. The stuff Vash showed him before had been far more entertaining, so Wolfwood gets why he’d defaulted to romping through the woods and talking about cool symbols. But weirdly, Wolfwood kinda likes this better.

He can now concentrate and direct his energy through Vash and into his spells, keeping Vash from getting drained even more than before. He knows a few basic spells—he sometimes slams the cupboard doors open and closed by ordering them to do so if Vash takes too long to stop working and eat. It’s all technical bullshit and practice, but it’s not unlike learning to carve. He might nick himself—or, in this case, cause a few minor explosions—a few times. It might feel like he’s getting nowhere for a while, but it’s still productive. He’s doing something, and he can do it well. It’ll just take time.

Which is something he has far less of than patience, but he’s making it work. It’s not like this is helping him concoct some brilliant plan, but it’s the foundation of something . He’s just gotta build on top of it.

Wolfwood lies on the carpet in the sun as Vash takes his time washing the dishes from breakfast—Wolfwood tried to help magic those away once before, but that had caused one of those aforementioned explosions. So instead, he rests and prepares himself for a long day of studying and helping Vash finish up the current batch of what seem to be fishing spells. Wolfwood’s not sure why some other witch can’t do a spell like that, but he’s planning to spend most of the day controlling his flow of energy into Vash instead of asking about it.

The output of energy is one of the hardest things to control, apparently. He can see why and how he probably overdid it at the palace, but he doesn’t exactly regret it. What he does regret is letting Vash use his own energy to limit and control the magic he pulls from Wolfwood instead of letting Wolfwood manage all that. Not that he could have known, and they’ve fixed it now, but it’s still stupid.

More and more often, Wolfwood wishes things would just stay like this. That Vash wasn’t cursed, and they could continue this daily ritual forever. He doesn’t care if he’s a cat or human, just that he stays.

Life isn’t that kind, though.

“Nico?”

He blinks his eyes groggily, dazed by the warmth of the sun. “Time to get to work?”

Vash is silent for a few seconds too long, and Wolfwood mentally shakes himself to alertness. Vash is still in the kitchen area, leaning against the counter and staring at Wolfwood with a furrow between his brows. He’s been a bit more broody since the whole palace thing. Before that, slowly but surely, Wolfwood had seen more and more of that goofiness he’d first glimpsed in that alleyway when they met—but in a way that feels real. Now it’s like Vash is trying to cover up something else entirely, and Wolfwood doesn’t like it.

“What, cat got your tongue?” Wolfwood drawls, hoping the pun comes across.

From the way Vash’s lip twitches up, it does. “Haha, very funny. I just… I have a bit of a favor to ask.”

Vash goes quiet again, so Wolfwood gives a small mrrp ? It’s such a stupid sound to make, but it always seems to soften something in Vash.

It does the trick this time, too. Vash takes a deep breath, walks over, and crouches down next to him. For a moment, he’s framed in the sunlight from the window, and it’s like most of his hair is golden again—but then reality sets back in. “This isn’t going to be a favor like usual, not like one of the spells for the queen. It shouldn’t take much out of you, but this spell is a little more involved than what we’ve been working on. And I don’t want to…”

“Explode into a ball of feathers and sticks again, got it.” Wolfwood rolls his eyes.

“You make me sound like a bird’s nest.” Vash screws up his face, dramatic and ridiculous.

“Maybe if you stop being a birdbrain and tell me what’s going on, I’ll take it back.” Wolfwood might be a little prickly in his wording, but he can’t help how his fur rises at the thought of attempting a new spell outside the norm. It’s not like it’s gone well before.

This is literally the point of him being Vash’s familiar, though. Wolfwood’s here to help Vash be able to do magic without the curse eating him alive. And he knows Vash wouldn’t bring it up if it wasn’t important, so he waits to hear what this is all about.

Impatiently.

“I… I have an idea.” Vash swallows. “Something that may help cure curses. But we’d need to leave the house and go very far away.”

Wolfwood bristles. “But your brother—”

“Nai cannot go there. He can’t follow. It’s physically impossible.”

“Then… We’re going for a walk?” Wolfwood tilts his head, his muscles still tense and poised to leap up.

“And a very, very long jump. Hence the spell.” Vash nods toward the door. “The groundwork is already laid, so in theory, it won’t even touch my curse. But I need your magic to activate it, or the curse might flare. If it does, if the marks show on my skin, yell or bite or scratch, and I should be able to stop. It’s all very minor.”

But it’s definitely still a risk, and Vash knows it. Even though Vash wouldn’t have said anything if it was a spell or situation that he thought was too risky or not worth it. Honestly, it’s either sit here and not be able to do anything about either of their curses, or help Vash out with whatever this is. Which begs the question, why the hell didn’t Vash do whatever this is sooner? If he needed Wolfwood around to help lessen the risk from his curse, he had a long time to ask before this moment.

Whatever the case, Vash is bringing it up now, and that’s what matters. 

Wolfwood stands up and gives a good stretch, very aware of how Vash eyes him cautiously—like he might bite or finally make good on the promise to piss on Vash’s shoes or something. “Alright. Where to? Are we gonna ‘jump’ how Milly and Meryl do it? Because I’ll do it, and I’ll survive, but I hate that shit.”

A laugh erupts from Vash before he catches it, clearing his throat. “Ah, no, I’ve never been good at those sorts of transport spells. They make me throw up every time.”

Finally , someone who sees reason about those horrible spells. It shouldn’t cause Wolfwood nearly as much relief, given that Vash might turn into a monster if they try this, but it does.

“It’s attached to the door.” Vash nods at the inconspicuous slab of wood. “I used to have spells connected to a number of locations, but after Nai… Well, you could track those openings back here easily and with little effort. But I left one intact.”

Wolfwood’s tail flicks. “And it’s safe?”

“It should be, everything is stable.” Vash stares at the door for a long moment, eyes narrowing. “I haven’t used that entrance for decades, but the passage is stable. Milly helps maintain any spells in the house, and she might be able to activate this one for our use. I’d just rather not drain her any more than need be.”

“Yeah.” Wolfwood can’t help but wonder what other spells she must maintain aside from maybe the protection on her tree, but that’s a conversation for another day. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going, or…?”

Another moment passes as Vash shifts on his feet, and then he shakes his head. “I... I’ll tell you if we can cross the threshold without activating my curse.”

Wolfwood’s tempted to push, but the best way to learn about Vash’s plan would be to go anyway, right? And damn if that stupid saying about cats and curiosity hasn’t gotten him in enough trouble already, but it’s undoubtedly true. He sighs. “Alright then, let’s get going. What do you need from me?”

Vash smiles at him—small and real, but with a sadness at the corner of his eyes. “Thank you. Like I said, the spell’s set up. I just need your magic to activate it.”

Wolfwood walks over to Vash as he talks, only grumbling a bit as he’s lifted up to perch on Vash’s shoulder. “So, the same thing we do every day, basically? Just like the packets?”

“Just like the packets,” Vash echoes as Wolfwood shuffles around while Vash puts on his coat, giving something for him to dig his claws into before stepping up to the door.

Vash presses the palm of his flesh and blood hand against the wooden surface, glances at Wolfwood from the corner of his eye, and Wolfwood knows what to do without Vash needing to say another word.

Wolfwood takes a deep breath and turns inward. He pushes past emotion and feeling that floats around the edges of his thoughts and digs into his own power, drawing out a little of it, exhaling as he stretches himself toward Vash—who meets him halfway, like he always does. Neither of them moves, but the feel of Vash’s soul against his own is distinct and strangely comforting, like taking a blanket off a sun-warmed laundry line and pressing his face into it. There’s always a hint of it in the back of Wolfwood’s mind, but that’s never as consuming as it is like this.

Vash says the only reason Wolfwood can feel him so distinctly and vividly without any additional spells is their familiar bond, and that’s fine with Wolfwood. He doesn’t want to touch or be touched by anyone else like this. It feels oddly intimate as his power is drawn gently from him, pulled taught, and then woven into shapes he had never noticed were already hidden in the grain of the wooden door, illuminating them.

“There,” Vash breathes, letting his arm drop along with his grip on Wolfwood’s magic.

Wolfwood pretends it doesn’t leave him with a cold emptiness that reaches deep enough to touch his bones. “That’s it? That’s less energy than a spell packet.”

Vash nods. “Yeah, it doesn’t take much. It’s just… You know that spells are cast with intent, yes? You can’t separate magic from its intent, as that’s somewhat the point. Certain spells with certain intent activate my curse. Among other activators, but those are less relevant right now.”

Wolfwood frowns. Queen Luida said that, as far as she understood it, Vash’s curse was supposed to keep him away from mortals, especially humans. Then again, she didn’t know if that was the full story. Though Milly did imply that it was at least somewhat true… “And your intent was what, exactly?”

“Like I said,” Vash smiles at him, strained and terrible and sad, “in theory, to cure a curse.”

Well, that reasoning would make sense. Maybe the point of the curse is to keep Vash from being around people, but obviously it can’t do that if he breaks it and is free to do whatever he wants. Maybe that’s a condition of the curse? Vash can’t try to break it? Honestly, Wolfwood still doesn’t completely understand how curses work, and he wishes he didn’t have to.

Wolfwood makes a mental note to quiz Vash about this later, after they’re done. For now, Vash reaches down with his other hand, seemingly locks the door, and turns the doorknob.

And then keeps turning.

And turning.

And turning .

“Pretty sure it’s not supposed to do that,” Wolfwood mutters.

Vash’s smile grows a little more earnest. “ Normal doorknobs aren’t meant to keep turning, no. But this one…”

Vash drops the hand on the runes and opens the door despite it being locked. Wolfwood is immediately blinded . Not only is it way brighter than it is in the house, but it’s hot. Like whatever’s out there warmer than the fucking fireplace.

“This is no ordinary door.”

Wolfwood blinks until the world comes into focus. And whatever he’s looking at doesn’t look like his world. Vash steps out into a landscape of golden, glittering sand, the sky pale and blue and cloudless above them. There’s no wind aside from the movement of Vash walking, and Wolfwood feels like he’s been shoved into an oven.

Vash doesn’t seem remotely affected by it, sliding through the sand before climbing up to crest a hill, perching there for a second. The sand stretches out to the horizon, glimmering in the sun—no, suns . There are two globes of fire overhead, one big and one small. Both are paler than the sun back home. And then there are moons. Wolfwood can count at least three of various sizes as he cranes his head to look around, but it’s blazing daylight. There could be even more celestial bodies out there, who the hell knows. 

It’s hard to focus on the sand with how bright it is, but it doesn’t seem like there’s a lot to look at, anyway. There are no plants, maybe a few stones, and not much else. There’s a weird shape not too far off, but maybe it’s just a strange pile of sand.

It seems like the place is pretty uninhabitable, to put it mildly.

“Where are we?” Wolfwood asks in a whisper, the world around them so dead that it feels like he shouldn’t even speak.

“This is where I’m from.” Vash doesn’t say it with pride, not even sorrow—just emptiness. “It’s not your own world—but I think you noticed that much. For the brief time humankind made its home here, they called it No Man’s Land. I thought it was a sad thing to name your own home, but in retrospect… It’s fitting. Don’t you think?”

Wolfwood hesitates, not sure what the right answer is, before he mutters a soft, “Yeah.”

And then Vash steps forward and takes them further into the sands.

Chapter Text

“Does anything even live here?” Wolfwood mutters, eyes darting around the empty, open expanse of endless sand.

Vash hums, glancing around as if looking for signs of life. “I think Zazie is still here, I can hear them buzzing. The only native wildlife on this planet are worms, and they all share a consciousness. It’s a bit like having a familiar’s bond, but constantly activated and with all of your kind. They want nothing to do with outsiders anymore. But they won’t be hostile to me, though.”

To Vash specifically? Wolfwood tries to get a glimpse of Vash’s face from his perch, but what he can see doesn’t express much. “But your brother? He isn’t welcome?”

That makes Vash grimace. “He’d be hunted on sight after everything that happened. I tried to help not just humanity but the planet and its natives before we left, and he… did not. Now, here.”

Wolfwood looks forward and digs his claws deeper into Vash’s coat. Before them is what’s absolutely not another mound of sand. Instead, it’s some sort of corroded, jagged structure made entirely of metal, more massive than anything he’s ever seen. It’s enough that it might put the palace to shame—if it were whole.

Whatever the place used to be has been torn, broken, and even burned. It’s also a bit rusty, but not very much. Wolfwood can’t say he’s too surprised with how dry it is here.

Wolfwood wishes he could so much as guess what this thing is supposed to be, but he feels a little numb even thinking about it. He doesn’t even know what could make something like this, much less what its purpose would have been. Could Vash have done it when his power was at its peak? Would he have?

Vash walks right up to whatever the hell it is with no hesitation or fear in him. His shoulders hang a little low, the slight shift in his usual posture obvious to Wolfwood as he clings to him, but that’s about it. He grabs hold of a wheel attached to a great, metal panel, turning the thing with a terrible squealing noise until it opens, the sound echoing around the blackness of the gaping interior.

Without another word, they step inside and it’s dark enough to blind Wolfwood again. He’d think the shade would help with the heat, but being inside barely changes anything. It’s just muskier and dustier warmth.

“This was where I was born. Not on this planet, but in a place like this. The whole structure was once a ship. You know the stars in the night sky?”

“Yeah, I sure hope I do.” Wolfwood blinks rapidly, trying to get his eyes to adjust.

“This was a ship built to sail the stars, and it did just that a long time ago. We were…” Vash swallows, the sound audible in the heavy silence, only punctuated by his echoing footsteps. “Despite what my brother would tell you, we aren't quite spirits, but not humans either. The humans of this world used to live on a dying planet, and they were trying their damndest to save her spirit—though they didn’t know she had one. Not yet. In the process of trying to keep her from dying, they accidentally created a portal between their world and yours. They extracted a spirit, somehow, and used what was basically this universe's magic to figure out what it was and how it worked. 

“Around that time, they knew there was no hope for their world. So they built these ships to leave her, but before that… They used the power of the spirit they found, extracted the spirit of their earth, and merged all that energy into bodies. Human shaped, with human… traces.”

Wolfwood tries to take it all in, tries to understand, but it’sth too large and too strange to fit into his head. It’s a lot of information all in a couple of minutes while the darkness around them fades into something more manageable, the hallways littered with small holes letting a bit of light seep in. He finds himself walked through strange metallic hallways, details difficult to make out in the dim glow. A chill runs up his spine, and he wants to say it’s because the place feels haunted—but no.

Even more so than outside, this place feels empty .

“How’s that even possible?” Wolfwood’s heard legends and myths about the entire world— their world—having a spirit, but even then, it doesn’t exactly seem to have a separate body like Milly or Meryl. “You don’t make spirits, right? They’re just… born. They happen.”

Vash’s mouth presses into a thin line. “That’s how it’s supposed to happen. This only succeeded at a cost, one that was far too high. The spirits the humans created aren’t like the ones you know. And they aren’t like you—they aren’t like me, either. These spirits had more power than anything else out there, but they were trapped in a body like a mortal. They couldn’t change shape or live independently of their form like spirits in your world can. They needed a lot of support and care to help humans stay alive on their star ships, so it was give and take.

“Until my brother and I were born.”

Born . Seriously, this is way too much. Wolfwood had thought learning all that history and those rumors from the queen was bad, but that was nothing in comparison to this.

But Wolfwood’s not letting go of his chance to get answers, not after searching for them for so long. He takes a deep breath. “You guys were born born? Like, from another body? I thought spirits couldn’t be birthed—not like that. They’re created, or they grow. If you’re born, you’re mortal.”

Vash laughs, sounding like an almost knee-jerk reaction as opposed to something he really means. “Well, I exist, don’t I? I’m a body and a spirit, and I’m not mortal. But I don’t inhabit an item. I inhabit me.”

“So you're just…” Wolfwood lets out a breath, closing his eyes for a second to try and visualize this whole thing. It doesn’t help. “You’re like the spirit of yourself?”

Vash glances at him, something warm in the shape of his mouth despite the coldness in his eyes. “That's a nice way of putting it.”

“I mean…” Wolfwood tries to think before he speaks, to not shove his foot directly in his mouth when Vash is being so open. “I’m the spirit of me with a mortal body. Milly’s the spirit of, well, Milly with a tree body. You’ve got a spirit’s body and a spirit’s soul. It tracks.”

Vash pauses for a second as they reach another one of those strange doors, giant doors that they entered through. “You're too kind to me, Nico.”

This door isn’t shut, but it still requires both hands as Vash creaks the heavy hunk of metal open, dispersing a cloud of dust and sand that illuminates opaque in a shaft of sunlight. They step through it and into a room so large that most of Hopeland might fit inside it. And along the walls, on the side of metal pathways and suspended in the air that Vash treads along, lit up by sunlight seeping through massive gouges in the ceiling, are what look like broken glass containers. Gigantic glass containers.

Vash walks along the path  through the room until they get close to them, and it quickly becomes apparent that there are things still in the glass. Wolfwood stiffens, claws digging into Vash’s shoulder, but there’s no movement. Like Vash said, nothing’s living here in this world—except for some worms, apparently.

Whatever’s in the glass looks charred and black. The body itself doesn’t seem too much bigger than a human’s. Wolfwood can make out hands and feet. But it’s almost like it was spilling out of its body before it died, had spread and grown like a plant—oh gods. Like Vash .

Wolfwood can see it clear as day now, those feathers and the vines creeping from a body at the center. At a closer look, its inhuman nature becomes more apparent. Its limbs are wrong, off-center, with too many of them and too many joints. But even with the cracks and decay in their mummified corpse, Wolfwood catches sight of a mouth wide open in a silent scream.

Wolfwood distinctly remembers Meryl calling Vash’s darkening hair “rot,” and these decayed remains give him a much better idea of what she means.

“This was one of my sisters, one of the spirits made by mortals.” Vash’s voice is gentle as he stands in front of her, motionless.

Wolfwood looks back and forth a few times, trying to imagine what she looked like alive to spot any similarities between the two of them. But outside of the vines and feathers, he’s got nothing. “What was her name?”

Vash shrugs, careful not to jostle Wolfwood too much. “We didn't need names. We didn’t speak like people do. It was different than how spirits from your world communicate, too. I think it’s maybe because we all shared a part of the same soul. We all had the same creators, and we were all split from the same creation.”

It’s weird to think about not being whole like that. Is it obvious to notice, or is it something that Vash never had to begin with and never knew any different? Or is it not like that at all? Sure, some spirits were split to make these not-quite-spirits, but does that mean they weren’t their own thing, too? And Vash was born—what does that make him ?

Wolfwood lets out a breath, putting a pin in those thoughts. “If your… species, that’s what they are, right? Well, if they don’t have names, why do you have a name?”

A smile creeps across Vash’s face, small and fragile. “Our mother gave my brother and me one each—well, the human woman who raised us, not technically the spirit that birthed us. It’s something that still makes this place and our history here real for me, honestly. It’s something precious, something I didn’t need but she gave me anyway. Nai tried to leave his behind for a while, but then… By the time we came to your world, he was using only the birth name that he was given. That’s why I did my best to forgive him. I thought he changed. But I was wrong.”

“You tried, though.” It’s more than Wolfwood can say he would’ve done. 

Vash swallows softly, a deafening noise in the quiet. “And how many more will die because of me and that choice?”

“Well…” Wolfwood considers his words, not wanting to let Vash believe this bullshit, but not wanting to be a dick either. “Luida said you saved a lot of people ever since you popped up out of nowhere—well, out of here, I guess. Everyone I talk to who knows you as you —and not just heard about you through those stupid rumors you let spread—loves you. Besides, I don’t know what it’s worth, but I haven’t given up on you. Neither has Milly, and she might be nice, but you know she wouldn’t take your shit if she thought you went too far.”

Vash snorts, soft enough that maybe it’s a sniffle. “Maybe. But it might be better if I stayed here, honestly.”

Wolfwood understands that thought and that feeling better than maybe anyone else Vash could have said it to. He may avoid thinking about what might’ve happened with Chapel and Hopeland Orphanage after he left, but he still ruminates on that conversation with Livio and the offer he and Miss Melanie put on the table. It haunted Wolfwood for weeks back then—and it still eats at him today. Wolfwood had the opportunity to have something better, and he couldn’t dare to take it; he wasn’t nearly strong enough. He never would have even left Chapel if he hadn’t been cursed into leaving.

But Vash did take that chance on a hopeful, brighter future. And he regrets it, too.

Looks like no matter what you do, the “what ifs” will always haunt you. Vash was just braver about the choices that led to right now.

“If you stayed here, who knows what would have happened over on our side of things. You’ve helped a lot of people, even if you’ve watched more get hurt.” Wolfwood’s tail flicks as he stares at Vash’s sister. “Gunsmoke needs you.”

And, selfishly, Wolfwood doesn’t know where he’d be without Vash. Insane brother and all.

“I keep forgetting that they called the kingdom that.” Vash rolls his eyes a little as Wolfwood glances at him. “I had a weapon on me from this world, and while I didn’t like to use it more than I had to, it helped me negotiate peace and cooperation. Magic is helpful and all, but I hadn’t learned proper spells yet. We didn’t understand them here, we only understood energy and power. There was no concept of the shapes spells could take and the purposes magic could fill. Nai caught on almost instantly, but I was lucky I had brought something from here to keep me safe. I know it inspired blacksmiths to invent something similar, though not quite like mine. I think mine is somewhere in my room…”

Well, that’s a little terrifying. Considering they’re talking about Gunsmoke , he can only assume that they’re talking about guns. And Vash, of all people, brought one over and basically invented them in Gunsmoke despite negotiating peace and making them barely used outside of hunting. Even then, Wolfwood’s heard they aren’t very accurate without some serious runes on the barrels and a good amount of magical energy from the shooter.

Well, regardless, Wolfwood really doesn’t need to think about accidentally shooting a leg off by stepping on some weapon lying around their home and needing some fancy prosthetic like Vash.

“Did you know this sister when you lived here?” Wolfwood nods towards the mummified spirit, knowing they should probably get back on topic despite how fascinating Vash’s rambling procrastination is.

“Yes, decades ago.” Vash begins to stretch out an arm toward her before dropping it. “She was so kind and sweet, and she deserved better. They all deserve better.”

“It’s not your fault. Unless you took that gun of yours and used it, it’s not your fault.” It’s stupid to even suggest that because Wolfwood knows Vash would never.

And, of course, Vash shakes his head. “You don’t even know what happened. You can’t say that.”

“No, but I know you. And I know you’d never do something like this. It’s also pretty clear you’ve been beating the shit out of yourself about it since. You didn’t ask for this, you’re trying to fix it, and it wasn’t even  something you did on purpose.”

Vash glances at him, arching an eyebrow. “Just like you’d never knock over my geraniums on purpose?”

Wolfwood glares at him, ears flicking back. “ Hey , this isn’t about me.”

It’s a fair point though, Wolfwood guesses. A rock of guilt drags at his stomach every time he gets up late enough in the morning that the sun has risen and those damn red flowers are illuminated on their perch above Vash’s bed. Like hell he’s admitting that to Vash, though.

Vash lets out a great sigh, closing his eyes.”My brother… We were born on a ship—not this one. But one of the spirits birthed us, and we were a miracle. Twins. They said there were never others like us, but that was a lie. There was one before us. They just… humans can be cruel. She was alive when we found her, but she should not have been.”

The cruelty of humanity is not something Wolfwood would ever doubt. He wishes he could, but he won’t. This though… What Vash is talking about sounds worse than anything Wolfwood’s seen. He can’t even imagine, and he doesn’t want to.

“After that, Nai was resentful of those who created our sisters and used them for their magic, even if no one treated us as cruelly. He was so afraid of being taken advantage of and run dry. He acts like he’s ruthless and heartless, but he’s just so afraid. And so he crashed all of the star ships onto this planet. I tried to protect everyone, but he—he was so angry, and I failed. First, the humans died. Then, without the people to care for our sisters, even our magic couldn’t keep them alive. 

“And I just… I was so desperate. I knew that if we had worked together, everyone would have been fine. It wouldn’t have been perfect, but we would have survived. I pleaded with Nai. So I wanted to try again, start fresh. I reached deep within myself, to the spirit of my ancestor who came from another place, and I tore through the worlds to get to where you call home. That trip caused my first patch of black hair—easier to hide before Julai. And because I was so scared, because I couldn’t stand to be alone, even though I knew who Nai was despite his promises, I brought my brother with me.”

Wolfwood winces. He can’t imagine abandoning his own brother, but he also can’t imagine saving the bastard that Vash is stuck with. But being the only two people left alive outside of some worms in an entire world…

“It worked for a while. He protected the spirits, and I protected the people. But I worked out deals for the spirits to exist in harmony with the humans and for them to help each other, and that… that was too much for him. You know the seasonal festivals where you give offerings to the spirits and clean the physical bodies of spirits who can’t do it themselves? Well, they aren’t just for show or to enjoy the festivities and food. When you take care of and celebrate the spirits, they support and protect you in turn. I worked for that. But Nai…”

Vash sighs again. Wolfwood hasn’t heard him sigh this much since he’d first gotten to Milly’s tree. “Nai thinks it’s slavery, even though it’s mutually beneficial. Humans take care of whatever form or land the spirits are attached to, and spirits help support humans.”

“I never knew anything about this.” Then again, Wolfwood mostly just knew of the festivals. He has those vague memories of going with the orphanage to solstices and celebrations, maybe a special treat now and then, maybe leaving a small offering—but that’s about it.

“Some spirits are more shy, some places receive less support—or, maybe, you just never had anyone to tell you about it all.”

Wolfwood shrinks back a little. Vash is way too observant for his own good. Though, really, who would have told a cat? Even if Vash knows he’s not some regular animal.

Wolfwood clears his throat, refusing to look at that thought any longer. “Then… can’t the spirits do what you do for the queen? So you don’t have to go hunchbacked over your desk all day.”

“No.” Vash shakes his head. “My brand of magic doesn’t exist in your world, so the spells I do are always slightly different from anything else possible there.”

“It’s your world too, y’know.” Wolfwood digs his claws in a little deeper than he has to. It’s eating at him how Vash keeps wording everything like he doesn’t belong there.

“Not after what I brought here, it isn’t. You don’t burn down a house and call it home.”

“Y’know, I know you’re trying your damndest to be the villain, but the more you tell me, the less I think it’s your fault. And I’d tell you if I thought it was your fault, I wouldn’t lie like that.” Wolfwood hesitates just a second before deciding maybe he could confide in Vash a little, too. “I think maybe I would’ve done the same thing. I think anyone who’s ever known what it’s like to lose everything has done something a little stupid. A lot stupid, in my case.”

Vash smiles at him, a broken and trembling thing, as his eyes gleam a little too much in the dim light to not be filled with tears. “I wish that were the case. But if I could have just stopped my brother, if I could have…”

“That’s too much for one person to own.” Wolfwood bumps the side of his head against Vash’s. “It’s not like you’ve rolled over and taken it. You’re trying. That’s all you can do.”

Vash takes a shaky breath, reaching up to scratch Wolfwood behind the ear and leaning his temple against Wolfwood in return.

Wolfwood’s not sure he got through that thick, spikey head of his, but hopefully Vash at least knows Wolfwood doesn’t hate him for all this. He is overwhelmed and confused about the sheer amount of information—but it doesn’t change anything about Vash. It just explains it.

Wolfwood lets his purr start up just to make his point. He feels safe and comfortable enough for it. He hopes it gives Vash a little of those feelings, too.

“Is it alright if I use a bit more of your magic?” Vash whispers, his hand still moving through Wolfwood’s fur. “We came here for an ingredient for a spell, and I think it’s about time we collected it.”

Wolfwood doesn’t answer in words. Instead, he extends a part of himself out to Vash without thought, still ready after having helped Vash open the door.

Vash’s touch against his soul is still gentle yet firm as he takes just a little power once again. It’s second nature to sense how he reaches out, wraps their magic around one of his sister’s smaller feathers, and pulls until there’s a loud crack that makes Wolfwood flinch. Then he brings the dark, twisted thing over and deposits it in his hands.

It doesn’t have any give at all in Vash’s hand, solid as a rock, like it’s fossilized. Maybe it is, who knows. It’s dark though, and even up close, still too similar to Vash’s feathers for comfort.

“Ready to go home?” Vash glances at Wolfwood, and there’s evident exhaustion in the downturn of his lips and the sagging of his eyes. 

It’s probably strange that Wolfwood lets out a relieved breath at that. Vash isn’t trying to pretend to Wolfwood or himself how he feels. And more than that, Vash is back to calling their place, their world , home.

“Yeah.” Wolfwood settles down, his purring picking up. “Let’s go home.”

Chapter Text

Stepping back into their home after being in a foreign land that Wolfwood couldn’t have imagined in his wildest dreams is jarring, to say the least. It’s not that he hasn’t heard of desolate landscapes, doesn’t know what sand is, or wasn’t aware that some places get dastardly hot sometimes. But seeing all of that, being there, was something else. 

The moment that Vash sets Wolfwood down to wander off and do his own thing, the memory of it is already so surreal and unmoored that a part of him thinks it has to be some hallucination—despite the large, onyx feather that Vash hasn’t let go of.

Now that Wolfwood’s seeing it in proper lighting and not the glaring light of the two suns or the darkness of the star ship, it doesn’t look a whole lot like Vash’s feathers. In shape, yeah, but Vash’s feathers are shiny, soft, and alive , whereas the one from his sister looks like dull stone. Dead.

Wolfwood never wants to see Vash’s feathers like that.

He glances at the back of Vash’s head where the concentration of black hair is the strongest, swaying around in messy spikes as he digs through items on his desk. Would Vash going fully rotten and all his hair going night-dark have him looking like his sisters, or would that nightmare be something as unique as what and who Vash is? Would Vash’s curse taking him over drive him instantly to that state?

No. No, of course it wouldn’t fossilize him. Nai wants Vash alive. Not for him to be his own person, but to own him and use his power. It’s not exactly a comfort, but compared to thinking of Vash rotting into some fossil-like state… No, maybe being dead would be kinder. And Wolfwood’s not sure Nai’s curse is working entirely as planned with how drained Vash is becoming.

Wolfwood gets that Vash’s feelings about Nai are complicated and it’s gotta be awful to hate someone you once loved, to be afraid of the only person out there like you—the only one who will ever be like you.

And while he knows Vash would never want it, Wolfwood kind of regrets not making an attempt to tear out that bastard’s throat the few times that he’s met him.

“How are you feeling?” Vash turns back to Wolfwood, his smile a little strained but more relaxed and earnest now. “Do you want to start the process of attempting to remove the curse? It shouldn’t be too exhausting to test the theory behind that approach, since we’ll only be trying to get information on how the ingredients and magic interact—all the real spellcasting will be saved for later. But this test shouldn’t take much more energy than traveling through the door or retrieval spell we used on the feather.”

Vash is talking faster than normal, explaining a little more than he would at this stage in spellcasting. And him being that nervous isn’t exactly encouraging, considering how badly casting something risky went for them that one time. But Wolfwood’s here as his familiar, Vash is actually asking him for help, and they might finally make some progress on this whole curse thing. If this works, Wolfwood might not have to see Vash end up like his sister or worse.

So, while he might be a little wary of messing with something so volatile, he can’t not try.

“What do you need me to do?” Wolfwood trots over to Vash from where he’d been sitting and watching in the center of the room.

“Well, we’ll be using a magic circle again—I know, I know.” Vash flinches at Wolfwood’s knee-jerk hiss as he goes about moving the carpet away again, revealing the same spell outline that was there before. The runes are gone this time, burnt up in the energy of that last spell. Vash goes around to scratch new ones in as he talks. “You’ll be in the center as the focus while also fueling the spell. This is just to gather information and understand how we might be able to use what we gathered to break a curse. As I said, it’s a little more magic than the other spells we’ve done today, but less energy than a day of working on packets. We don’t have to do it right now, though. I’m sure you’re tired. I don’t mean to push.”

“No, now’s fine. I want to.” Wolfwood bumps into Vash’s arm with the side of his head to interrupt his rambling. Then he pats his paw next to what Vash had just scribbled down. “You’ve never shown me this rune before. What’s it do?”

Vash lets out a shaky sigh before grabbing his glasses, placing them on the bridge of his nose, and slowing down to explain every step he’s taking to Wolfwood. His voice evens out into something more measured and normal as he speaks and, honestly? It helps settle some of Wolfwood’s nerves, too.

Wolfwood knows they don’t have a choice but to try this, risks and all. He knows they have no other ideas, and there’s no reason for putting it off. If he does, he’s living up to the shape his curse took and being a scaredy cat. He’s not that much of a coward that he’d give up on the chance to save Vash. But he remembers those vines and those feathers, so thick and dense that he could choke on them. He’s haunted by how Vash’s eyes went blank and white and strange, glowing lines pressed into his body like chains. He can barely comprehend how the man he knows and has reluctantly come to care for became a monster for a moment.

He doesn’t want to see that again. He doesn’t know if he can save Vash if there’s a repeat performance this time. Maybe things have changed and shifted too much, maybe the curse has progressed too far, and he doesn’t want Vash to suffer. But he will suffer if they don’t deal with this curse.

So he keeps his mouth shut. Even though Wolfwood knows Vash must notice the stiffness in his frame, maybe they can both pretend it’s because his joints are particularly bad after all that traveling.

But eventually, Wolfwood is once again sitting in the middle of the circle, stiff as a board, with the stone-like black feather resting at his front paws and vibrating with an energy he can feel deep in his chest.

He refuses to back down, even if he’s scared shitless.

“Ready?” Vash’s voice is soft—but not hesitant. There’s the solidity of sureness to him. But his tone hints at the weight of what they’re about to do, as if it’s too much to speak the words too loud.

Wolfwood nods. “Yeah, I’m ready. And if you start to glow, I’ll bite you.”

Vash laughs. “Yelling at me should be enough. If you leave the circle, it will break the spell without tying it up, and leaking all that raw energy might drain you too much. A spell this simple shouldn’t result in anything more than exhausting you, but… I’m sure it will be fine, though! Here we go.”

With a deep breath, Vash reaches out to Wolfwood with an invisible touch, and Wolfwood grabs hold of him and hangs on tight. It’s brief, but a smile flits across Vash’s face as he once again opens his mouth, and the words that come out aren’t quite words. But unlike last time, Wolfwood understands more than before.

He’s speaking the tongue of ancient runes. It’s less of a language and more expelling the form of that power out through your mouth. It’s why it sinks deep into Wolfwood’s bones and shakes through them as opposed to really being something he can comprehend with his ears. It’s an advanced technique, one that Wolfwood probably won’t get the opportunity to pick up between his shortened lifespan and how long it’s taking him to learn.

But he still likes to watch Vash do it. Ever since that first disaster when Vash attempted to help Wolfwood talk, he’s only seen Vash use words like this a few times—but the raw power and strength sticks with him. Wolfwood gets how Vash could easily seem fragile, weak, and a pushover to anyone who doesn’t know him well, but he’s not. His kindness and generosity are backed by a strength that Wolfwood may never fully comprehend. But that’s alright; he doesn’t have to comprehend it to respect it. 

The runes on the circle glimmer and shift, rising from the ground. They move toward Wolfwood, and he frowns at them. He’s not sure how Vash is going to cure his own curse like this, but he’ll get the chance to ask about it later. Maybe going through Wolfwood to his own magic will help since Wolfwood will be the one to touch it directly and have less of a chance of triggering the curse.

So Wolfwood braces himself and closes his eyes.

But the magic doesn’t even so much as brush his fur this time. The sensation of that first touch of connection still haunts him, even after growing closer from their bond. Not in a bad way, but in a way he’s braced for.

And nothing happens. So something’s wrong.

Fuck.

Wolfwood opens his eyes to the room illuminated in a white-blue glow. Lines spread rapidly across Vash’s skin as the pupils of his eyes are consumed by white, his face going slack.

“Spikey!” Wolfwood’s voice is weaker than it should be, terror wrapping around his throat—but it’s more than loud enough to be heard in the silence.

Or at least it should be. Vash floats up enough to hang a hairsbreadth off the ground, feet limp, and the markings press into his skin.

Just call out his name and he’ll stop, Wolfwood’s ass .

He takes a deep breath, reaching deep inside himself, pulling out more power than he’s ever purposefully drawn up before, and doing what comes naturally to him: letting it flow into his words: “Vash, stop !”

There’s a split second where absolutely nothing changes. Wolfwood braces himself to contend with branches, feathers, and strange flowers blooming and growing, along with another patch of black hair growing from Vash’s roots. He could lose Vash from this. And how stupid would that be? The curse completing its control of Vash through testing a spell?

Then the light flickers. Then it stutters across his body, like it can’t get enough power to light up properly.

Wolfwood’s pretty sure that he said something like that last time this happened, so either his power’s increased, which is unlikely, or Vash was right and this should be easier to interrupt. Maybe Vash is just weaker than he accounted for.

But after another moment, Vash floats back down to the ground, swaying for a moment. 

Wolfwood lets out a breath. “You scared me for a sec, there. You alright?”

Vash’s head tilts down, almost like he’s looking at Wolfwood—but his glasses slip off, clatter to the floor, and he’s got nothing in the whites of his eyes to see with.

That can’t be good.

Vash lurches forward, landing on his hands and knees as he pants loudly, lights flashing wildly across his skin. A slight whine escapes his mouth, almost pained.

Wolfwood scrambles forward, claws scratching through the symbols, the active spell digging into him and sucking away his energy for a moment before it shatters. He pushes up onto his hind feet and gets close, resting his front paws on Vash’s shoulders as he butts his head against Vash’s forehead. Hard .

He lets a purr rumble through his chest, hoping it’s enough to matter across their slight points of contact. Nothing shifts in Vash’s face even with Wolfwood so close though, expression completely blank.

“Hey.” Wolfwood nudges at him, fur against skin. “C’mon, look at me. You got this.”

As is becoming a really fucking awful habit, there’s another moment where nothing seems to happen. But then, same as last time, the fog of white in Vash’s eyes dissipates, slowly swirling away to reveal that odd, almost unreal blue beneath—even if Vash still isn’t reacting much.

“There you are.” Wolfwood would smile if he could. Instead, he lets out a soft laugh, sounding a bit like a cough out of a cat’s mouth. “You’re fine. You didn’t even explode into weird parts. It’s alright. Nothing happened, Milly’s tree is untouched, and the spell went nowhere.”

It did start though, and Wolfwood can feel the drain of interrupting it tugging at his bones, making him want to curl up next to Vash on his desk or tuck into Vash’s bed and lay down in his arms. He better wrap this up before he kinks out against his will.

“You told me to snap you out of it, and I did.” Wolfwood pushes as much conviction as he can into every word. “The curse isn’t getting you right now. You’re going to be fine. You’re coming back to me. Now .”

Vash gasps in a breath, blinking rapidly before his eyes finally focus on Wolfwood’s. He stares at him, panting, pupils wide and wild as if he’s a little lost and crazed.

It’s gotta suck being taken over like that. Wolfwood’s lost his body, his ability to talk to other people, and generally his option to function in this world without help, and it’s awful . The side effects are worse than the curse itself, sometimes. But to have no control, to lose yourself to the point where you could cause a tragedy like Julai?

It’s a miracle that Vash keeps fighting like this. Wolfwood’s not sure he could be that brave.

Finally, Vash’s eyes focus on Wolfwood, honing in and staying put. His breathing evens just a touch, and something tight in Wolfwood’s chest unravels.

And then wetness builds along Vash’s eyelashes. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. That was a mistake. I thought with a familiar that I could just— Fuck .” 

Vash squeezes his eyes shut as a high-pitched and wounded noise escapes from his chest, then bangs his fist onto the floor. Hard .

Wolfwood jumps back, hair raised and claws out before any thoughts catch up to him. 

It’s fine, it’s Vash . But his heart still races as he tries to use all of his energy to push back the onslaught of Chapel trying to burst into his head, trying to remind him of what was . He feels smaller than he has in a long time—which is impressive, considering he’s literally tiny. Insignificant. Nothing .

The curse only drew all of that out to the surface. Chapel was right. He always had been. Wolfwood’s been stupid to try and stop it.

“I’m sorry.” Vash’s voice is a squeak as it cuts through Wolfwood’s thoughts. “I didn’t— I would never hurt you. I’m so sorry.”

“S’fine,” Wolfwood grits out, ears pressed against his head as his tail lashes back and forth. “We knew it was a risk that the curse would activate when you did the spell. Did it do any damage to you?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Vash huffs, pushing off the ground to get up to his feet.

And then collapsing right back to the floor.

“Vash!” Wolfwood bounds forward, pushing at Vash’s scalp with his paws until his head turns and his face comes into view.

Vash’s eyes are squeezed shut, and he swallows hard as Wolfwood wilts in relief to see that he’s still breathing.

“What’s wrong?” Wolfwood demands, giving no room for arguments.

“I’ll be fine, just… Gotta rest.” Vash doesn’t make to move or get up, just collapsed on the floor.

Like hell Wolfwood’s letting Vash “rest” from probably almost dying because of the stupid decisions they both made on a hard, wooden floor.

“Milly!” Wolfwood calls out, weaving a bit of urgency into his words.

“Oh no, not again— Wait, what is that ?”

Wolfwood swivels his head around to find Milly looking at the feather in the middle of the floor, her face pale.

He has no idea what that thing’s gotta look or feel like to a spirit, but he does know that it’s not a threat. Maybe it had something to do with why the curse acted up, but it seemed like the fault was that they tried any sort of spell involving the curse at all. Maybe he’s being as stupid as Vash can be, but he doesn’t think that sister of his caused this.

“It was an ingredient for a spell that went wrong.” Wolfwood glances back up at her. “I don’t think the feather caused it, though.”

“It didn’t.” Vash groans, opening an eye. “Sorry, Milly.”

She turns back toward them, hands on her hips. “You really had to go and try something again without warning me, huh?”

“We’re sorry, honest,” Wolfwood says over Vash’s mumbled apologies. “I didn’t think we’d need you—neither did he. But he can’t get upstairs, and I’m not letting him sleep on the floor.”

Milly lets out a great sigh as she rolls her eyes, muttering to herself as she comes over and kneels at Vash’s side. “I’m rolling you over, alright?”

Vash barely has time to get out a grunt before it turns into a soft oof as Milly rolls him onto his back. Then she turns back to Wolfwood, his hair rising before he catches himself.

“Alright, Mr. Cat. Hop on.” She pats Vash’s stomach soft enough that it shouldn’t hurt, but hard enough to make him wheeze out softly.

Vash is as close as Wolfwood’s ever seen him to Milly’s bad side, huh?

His tail sways warily, not wanting to join Vash on Milly’s shit list—assuming he’s not already there. “I’m fine.”

She snorts. “You really think you can get up the stairs like that? I know you’re not used to being that low on magical energy yet.”

He blinks at her, then turns to look at the stairs. Somehow they look taller than they ever have before, each step a mountain. The thought of just hopping up the first one makes him want to curl up and take a nap right here—which, unlike Vash , it makes more sense for a cat to sleep on the floor. He’d rather stay with Vash to keep an eye on him, though.

His heart is still pounding in his chest from being stupid about Vash slamming his fist on the floor, but the exhaustion definitely drags at his limbs and eyelids. He’s got no idea how he ignored it for so long—even walking over to Milly seems like too much of a task.

Wolfwood refuses to be as stubborn as Vash, though. So one tired foot after the other, he walks over and then steps up onto Vash’s abdomen, much more delicately than Milly had been to him a minute ago.

Milly wastes no time hefting them up, muttering something about these boys and how silly they are, how moronic they are for not even trying to talk to her or have her there in case.

It’s not something that even crossed Wolfwood’s mind, honestly. It’s hard to think now, his mind scrambled and exhausted as he lays his head down on Vash’s chest and begins to fade into sleep, but he knows that even calling Milly sometimes feels like too much on her strained spirit. He doesn’t see her that often anymore, considering how depleted she seems to be all the time.

It’s too much for her to deal with.

It’s too much for any of them to deal with.

The timer ticking down to some unknown deadline has been loud in Wolfwood’s mind for a while, but now it seems to be picking up speed, racing toward the inevitable. They need to do something and do it fast .

If only Wolfwood had any ideas.